3   1822  01218  7431 


THE  UNPARDONABLE  SIN 


BOOKS  BY 
RUPERT   HUGHES 

THE   UNPARDONABLE   SIN 

LONG    EVER    AGO 

WE  CAN'T   HAVE   EVERYTHING 

IN    A    LITTLE    TOWN 

THE   THIRTEENTH   COMMANDMENT 

CLIPPED  WINGS 

WHAT  WILL  PEOPLE  SAY? 

THE   LAST  ROSE   OF  SUMMER 

EMPTY   POCKETS 


HARPER  A   BROTHERS.    NEW   YORK 
ESTABLISHED    1817 


Mrs.  Winsor   clasped   her   close,  and  spoke   to  her  motherly: 
"My  dear,  you  are  with  friends.      You  have  been  ill,  but 
we  love  you  and  you  are  well  again." 


The 

Unpardonable  Sin 

A  NOVEL 

BY 
RUPERT   HUGHES 

A  utkor  of 
"We  Can't  Have  Everything"  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

JAMES    MONTGOMERY   FLAGG 


HARPER  fef  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK   AND    LONDON 


THE  UNPARDONABLE  Sm 

Copyright.  191*.  by  Harper  &  Brother* 

Printed  in  the  United  State*  of  America 

Published  June,   1918 


THIS    STORY    OWES    MUCH    TO 

CAPTAIN    JOHN     FRANCIS     LUCEY 

TO   WHOSE    GENIUS    AND    SACRIFICE 

COUNTLESS     BELGIANS 

OWE    THEIR     LIVES 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


MRS.  WINSOR  CLASPED  HER  CLOSE,  AND  SPOKE  TO  HER 
MOTHERLY:  "MY  DEAR,  You  ARE  WITH  FRIENDS. 
You  HAVE  BEEN  ILL,  BUT  WE  LOVE  You  AND  You 
ARE  WELL  AGAIN" Pront%spi»u 

MRS.  WINSOR  FELT  THAT  IF  THE  GREAT  EYELIDS  WERE 
TO  OPEN,  THEY  WOULD  STARE  IN  AMAZEMENT,  AND 
THE  LONG  PALE  LIPS  WOULD  BABBLE  A  STRANGE 
STORY Pacing  p.  8 

ISOLDE  COULD  NOT  BEAR  TO  LOOK  BUT,  TURNING  ASIDE, 

PLAYED  WITH  ALL  HER  MIGHT ««         34 

WHILE  THE  BEAUTIFUL  GIRL  PLAYED  TO  THE  BEAUTIFUL 
GIRL,  No  ONE  SEEMED  TO  HEAR  ISOLDE  OR  HEED 
HER,  THE  SLEEPING  GIRL  LEAST  OF  ALL.  IT  WAS 
SHE  THAT  THE  Two  MEN  AND  THE  NURSE  WATCHED, 
ALL  EYES "  38 

WHEN  Dm  NY  REFUSED  TO  PROCEED  WITH  THE  DOOR 
OPEN,  THE  MATRON  THREATENED  TO  CALL  THE 
SOLDIERS  TO  HER  AID "  174 

"My  NAME  Is  IGNATIUS  DUHR — NAZI.  I  DID  TELLED 
You  MY  NAME  VEN  You  ARE  IN  MY  ARMS.  Now 
You  ARE  REMEMBERING,  YES?"  "No!"  SHE 
GROANED.  SHE  CRIED  IT  ALOUD  AGAIN,  "No!" 
AND  AGAIN,  "No!" "  230 

DMNY  RIPPED  OPEN  THE  COLLAR  OF  THE  WRETCH'S 
TUNIC,  AND  GROPED  ABOUT  His  THROAT  TILL  SHE 
FELT  THE  PUMPING  THROB  OF  A  GREAT  ARTERY. 
THERE  SHE  PRESSED  HER  THUMB  WITH  ALL  HER 
MIGHT.  AND  THE  BLOOD  JUMPED  No  MORE  FROM 
THE  REMNANT  OF  His  ARM 248 

AT  ANY  MOMENT  THROUGH  THAT  PLACID  SEA  THERE 
MIGHT  COME  A  TORPEDO.  AND  THEN  DEATH 
WOULD  BE  THEIR  PORTION.  THE  ONE  IMPOR 
TANT  THING  WAS  HASTE,  TO  EMBRACE  AND  MAKE 
LOVE  BEFORE  THE  GULF  OPENED  BENEATH  THEIR 
FEET "  304 


THE  UNPARDONABLE  SIN 


CHAPTER  I 

'T'HE  streets  of  the  little  mid-Western  town  were  pure 
1  gloom  save  for  the  occasional  arc-lamps,  strange  in 
candescent  fruit  among  leafage  so  thick  that  they  gave 
off  rather  a  white  fog  than  light.  Against  their  pallor  the 
trunks  of  the  veteran  maples  loomed  black  and  flat,  their 
shadows  pools  of  tar. 

Few  people  were  abroad,  and  they  were  so  vague  in  the 
gloom  that  they  seemed  not  to  be  persons  walking,  but  the 
floating  shadows  of  beings  hidden  above.  Yet  their  foot 
steps  were  audible  as  they  approached  and  vanished,  the 
rhythm  broken  by  shuffles  and  stumbles  over  the  hard 
ripples  in  the  brick  pavement. 

It  was  impossible  to  see  who  was  who,  but  the  old  lady 
on  the  Winsor  porch  knew  most  of  her  neighbors  by  their 
footsteps.  There  were  Trigger-foot  Pedlow  and  wooden- 
legged  Major  Rounds.  But  they  were  easy.  She  knew 
also  the  stealthy  tread  of  Tawm  Kinch,  who  always  seemed 
to  be  saving  shoe-leather,  and  the  timid  patter  of  old 
Miss  Tiffin's  spinstery  feet  forever  fleeing  when  no  one 
pursued. 

Mrs.  Winsor  had  sat  on  her  front  porch  or  at  one  of  her 
windows  for  so  many  years  that  people's  feet  clicked  their 
autographs  for  her  on  the  sidewalk.  She  could  tell  when 
there  was  a  stranger  among  them,  if  he  walked  fast.  But 
to-night  the  few  who  were  abroad  went  by  so  slowly  that 
her  ears  could  not  read  their  names.  This  made  her  lonelier 
than  usual,  for  her  son  was  late,  and  the  cook  had  gone  out 
for  the  evening. 

i 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

The  poor  soul  grew  afraid  to  rock  her  chair:  the  noise 
alarmed  her;  it  might  attract  burglars.  She  wished  her 
boy  would  come  home;  she  wondered  what  kept  him.  He 
should  have  been  back  long  ago,  to  help  her  indoors.  She 
was  not  supposed  to  be  strong  enough  to  walk  by  herself. 
If  any  of  those  wayfarers  had  turned  suddenly  into  her 
gateless,  fenceless  yard,  she  could  have  reached  the  door 
with  a  scream,  but  she  needed  some  such  goad. 

She  might  have  called  to  somebody  to  help  her  in.  But 
that  would  be  advertising  her  solitude.  She  wished  her 
son  would  come  home.  She  had  had  a  letter  in  the  late 
mail,  and  she  wanted  to  read  it  to  him.  It  worried  her 
keenly.  She  felt  very  old,  very  much  afraid.  In  the  sky 
there  were  flickerings  of  lightning,  rubadubs  of  thunder. 

Mrs.  Winsor  dreaded  storms.  The  next  might  always  be 
her  last.  She  imagined  the  lightning  stabbing  the  helpless 
lands  beyond  the  horizon,  and  she  imagined  the  people 
cowering  there  with  no  defense  against  their  invaded  sky. 

She  wished  her  son  would  come  home  before  the  rain 
broke  over  the  streets.  He  was,  as  likely  as  not,  standing 
out  on  the  high  bluff  over  the  river  watching  the  storm 
come.  He  liked  to  go  up  on  high  hills  or  sit  on  the  roof 
and  study  the  lightning,  shouting  to  it  with  hilarious  de 
fiances  that  scared  his  mother  like  a  sacrilege.  His  pro 
fessor  at  the  high  school  had  called  him  a  young  Ajax,  but 
his  name  was  Oliver.  Nearly  everybody  called  him  NolL 

His  ambitions  had  a  kind  of  glory  about  them.  He  felt 
things  fiercely;  he  was  a  ferocious  partisan  of  anything  he 
believed  in — his  baseball  club,  his  father's  political  party, 
the  pattern  of  skates  he  wore,  his  ward  school  against  the 
schools  of  all  the  other  wards,  his  class  in  his  school,  his 
country  against  all  the  nations  in  the  world  in  all  times. 

His  mother  wished  that  he  would  come  home.  The 
storm  was  advancing;  the  moon  was  enveloped — veiled — 
erased.  The  lightnings  were  flashing  and  fencing  well 
inside  the  horizon.  But  yet  awhile  the  air  was  still  and 
warm,  expectant,  undecided.  The  air  was  in  a  Mona  Lisa 
mood. 

Mrs.  Winsor  was  as  helpless  a  spectator  of  the  clouds 
driven  in  herds  across  the  sky  as  of  the  phantoms  drifting 

2 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

along  the  sidewalk.  It  was  the  lovers'  hour,  and  occasional 
couples  mooned  by  dreamily.  She  smiled  as  she  saw  two 
shadows  blurred  into  one,  moving  in  leisurely  colloquy 
in  spite  of  the  omens  of  wrath.  She  remembered  how  she 
had  once  gone  enarmed  along  dark  lanes  and  streets.  The 
maples  had  not  been  so  high  then,  and  electric  lamps  had 
not  been  invented;  but  the  gloaming  spirit  was  as  old  as 
Eden  and  newer  than  Edison. 

From  one  dual  shadow  that  blurred  along  she  could 
faintly  hear  murmurs  with  a  hint  of  smothered  excite 
ment — a  man's  diapason,  a  girl's  boyish  treble — but  noth 
ing  she  could  understand.  She  followed  the  couple  with 
her  eyes  across  the  alley  till  the  huge  blot  of  the  great  tree 
there  absorbed  it.  The  shadow  did  not  emerge  into  the 
dim  radiance  from  the  lamp  at  the  next  corner.  She 
supposed  the  twain  had  paused  for  another  embrace. 

Then  she  seemed  to  feel  a  little  agitation  in  the  air.  She 
seemed  to  hear  a  choked  outcry  ending  in  a  faint  gurgle. 
There  was  a  sense  of  motion  within  the  tree-shadow,  like  a 
quiver  in  black  smoke.  She  smiled.  The  girl  was  probably 
making  herself  a  little  more  interesting  by  the  immemorial 
feint  of  resistance.  Mrs.  Winsor  had  used  those  tactics 
herself  in  her  time,  though  she  would  never  have  confessed 
it  even  to  herself. 

But  now  a  single  shadow,  a  man's,  slowly  withdrew  from 
the  shadow  of  the  tree.  The  other  shadow  did  not  follow. 
As  a  patch  of  ink  trickles  away  from  a  fallen  bottle,  the 
lone  shadow  flowed  swiftly  to  the  next  tree-stripe,  lost 
itself  a  moment  there,  then  moved  swiftly  to  the  next,  and 
so  on  tree  by  tree  to  the  core  of  light  at  the  corner,  where 
the  shadow  seemed  to  be  almost  transparent,  powdery 
at  least.  There  it  turned  to  the  left  against  another 
line  of  trees  and  vanished  behind  the  silhouette  of  the 
corner  house. 

All  the  houses  seemed  to  ponder  the  riddle.  The  trees 
considered  it. 

Mrs.  Winsor  wondered  what  had  become  of  the  other 
shadow,  but  she  stared  into  the  gloom  in  vain.  It  was 
strange  for  a  man  to  leave  a  girl  there  and  run  away.  They 
might  have  quarreled,  and  she  might  have  ordered  him 

3 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

never  to  speak  to  her  again,  as  girls  do.  She  might  have 
resisted  a  little  too  long,  and  he  might  have  quit  her  cold. 
But  then  he  would  have  marched  away,  or  sulked  along. 
There  was  something  fugitive  about  this  man's  departure. 
And  why  didn't  the  girl  go  on  home?  Was  she  crying? 
She  made  no  sound.  Perhaps  she  was  petrified  with  anger 
and  was  fighting  her  mad  out,  as  Mrs.  Winsor  had  done  in 
her  time,  slowly  in  black  silence. 

Mrs.  Winsor  twisted  her  chair  around  and  gazed  with  a 
kind  of  violence  but  with  no  success.  The  noise  of  her 
chair  alarmed  her.  She  began  to  fear  things.  The  primeval 
dread  of  darkness  and  silence  seized  her.  She  wanted  sound. 
Even  the  lightning  made  no  noise  now.  She  wished  her  son 
would  come  home  and  shield  her  from  the  horror  of  this 
quiet  thing  in  the  shadow.  Perhaps  murder  had  been  done. 

Then  she  heard  footsteps  coming  up  the  right. 

She  knew  their  patter.  Her  son  was  evidently  in  a 
hurry.  From  his  shade  came  his  familiar  voice: 

"Mother!  You've  been  alone.  I'm  mighty  sorry.  I 
couldn't  help  it." 

She  sobbed  with  welcome  and  put  out  her  arms  to  him. 

He  was  breathing  fast.  When  he  kissed  her  his  lips 
were  cold  and  tremulous.  He  opened  the  front  door,  made 
a  light  in  the  hall,  lifted  her,  and  helped  her  awkwardly 
inside  the  house.  She  loved  the  light ;  she  was  glad  to  hear 
the  dear  old  front  door  slam;  it  was  the  portcullis-fall  of 
her  castle. 

She  reveled  a  little  moment  in  her  security  before  she  could 
bear  to  send  her  boy  out  into  the  dark  to  see  what  was  the 
matter  there.  Just  as  she  was  ready  to  speak  she  saw  that 
he  had  been  through  an  experience  of  some  exciting  sort. 

She  noted  a  bruise  on  his  face — a  barked  knuckle.  The 
thought  went  through  her  mind  like  lightning  that  he  would 
have  had  time  to  run  around  the  block  and  come  home  if 
he  had  been  the  shadow  that  fled  from  the  other  shadow. 

Then  he  picked  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  she  marveled  at 
the  strength  of  what  was  once  a  babe  at  her  bosom.  What 
she  had  once  carried  now  carried  her. 

He  toted  her  up-stairs  to  her  room ;  he  knelt  to  unbutton 
her  shoes  for  her,  and  she  marveled  at  his  meekness.  She 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

loved  him  with  fear,  and  she  wondered  what  life  was  doing 
to  him.  He  was  away  so  often,  in  such  unknown  com 
panies.  And  she  knew  how  much  evil  the  small  town  held. 
The  old  know  the  world  too  well.  The  deep  shadows,  the 
quiet  porches,  the  humble  intrigues — she  had  encountered 
so  much  sickening  knowledge  in  her  years;  such  frightful 
facts  emerged  now  and  then  from  the  shadows. 

If  her  boy  had  been  one  of  the  ghosts  under  the  tree, 
who  was  the  girl  ?  Why  had  he  gone  by  without  speaking 
to  his  mother?  She  told  herself  that  if  it  had  been  Noll,  he 
would  have  called  out  to  her.  At  least  he  would  never  have 
stopped  to  quarrel  at  the  very  edge  of  the  yard  when  he 
knew  his  mother  was  on  the  porch.  Or  if  he  had  done  all 
those  things,  they  had  meant  nothing  more  than  a  foolish 
spat.  The  girl  outside  had  probably  hurried  home. 

The  rain  came  now.  And  that  would  send  her  scurrying. 
Mrs.  Winsor  was  glad  to  hear  a  good  wholesome  growl 
from  the  sky.  But  her  smile  went  from  her,  for  the 
thunder  was  followed  by  a  scream,  a  kind  of  white  light 
ning  against  dark  silence. 

Then  there  was  a  noise  of  footsteps,  like  a  heavily 
running  rain.  They  came  up  on  the  porch.  The  door 
bell  clamored. 

Noll  stood  aghast  a  moment,  then  darted  down-stairs. 
Mrs.  Winsor  heard  him  unlock  the  door,  heard  a  man's 
voice  in  agitation: 

"Hello,  Noll.  I  want  to  use  your  telephone.  Where 
is  it? ...  Hello!  Hello!  Give  me  the  police-station,  quick! 
...  I  don't  know  .  .  .  something  funny.  Hello!  Is  this 
Marshal  Dakin?  Say,  Marshal,  this  is  Ward  Pennywell. 
Just  now,  as  I  was  coming  along  Fourth  Street — with,  well, 
never  mind — we  stumbled  over  the  body  of  a  girl.  She's 
dead,  I  think,  or  nearly — strangled  to  death,  I  guess.  I 
lighted  a  match  to  see  what  it  was  I  fell  over.  I  never  saw 
her  before.  Better  come  up.  She's  right  outside  Mrs. 
Winsor 's  house." 

Mrs.  Winsor's  heart  began  to  flutter  dangerously.  A 
gentler  thunder  groaned  from  the  deeps  of  the  night.  The 
air  was  filled  with  silken  whisperings  and  tappings  of  soft 
fingers.  The  rain  was  sorry. 

"5 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  old  soul  imagined  everything  now.  Her  faculties 
were  stampeded  with  the  wildest  fantasies.  Her 
boy  had  killed  a  girl,  and  she  was  the  only  witness.  She 
would  have  to  testify.  One  of  those  cyclones  of  scandal 
that  tear  quiet  homesteads  to  ruins  had  fallen  upon  her 
little  house.  She  cried  out:  "Noll!  Noll!" 

He  called  up  the  stairs,  and  ran  up  as  he  called : 

"Don't  worry,  Mother.  Something's  happened  outside. 
A  girl — hurt — or  fainted,  I  guess.  Don't  worry." 

He  had  so  little  of  crime  in  his  mien  that  she  felt  able  to 
think  of  other  humanity.  She  said : 

"You're  going  to  fetch  the  poor  thing  inside  out  of  the 
rain,  aren't  you?" 

"Shall  I,  Mother?  You're  not  supposed  to  move  people 
like  that  till  the  police  come." 

"But  it's  terrible  to  leave  anybody  out  in  the — the 
rain." 

The  commonplace  dread  of  wet  clothes  and  lying  on  the 
ground  in  a  storm  outweighed  the  unknown  significances 
of  unusual  tragedy.  Noll  said,  "You're  right;  I'll  go  get 
her." 

She  checked  him  to  ask,  "Who  was  the  girl  that  screamed 
— the  other  girl,  the  girl  with  Ward  Pennywell?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mother.  She  ran  home  alone,  I  guess. 
I  didn't  see  her.  He  didn't  say  who  she  was." 

He  was  out  and  scuttering  down  the  stairs.  There  was 
some  hesitation  below,  then  a  hurry  of  footsteps  on  the 
porch,  then  a  slower  movement  such  as  two  men  would 
make  carrying  a  body  in  the  dark. 

Mrs.  Winsor  could  not  endure  the  suspense.  She  called 
her  son  again  and  again,  but  he  did  not  answer.  Under 
the  stimulus  of  anxiety  she  rose  from  her  chair  and 

6 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

stumbled  across  the  room.     She  lowered  herself  down  the 
stairway,  using  the  banisters  and  the  wall  like  crutches. 

She  found  Noll  and  Ward  Pennywell  staring  at  a  girl 
stretched  on  a  sofa.  She  seemed  to  be  asleep  rather  than 
dead.  The  two  young  men  seemed  to  be  more  impressed 
by  her  beauty  than  by  her  fate. 

They  turned  in  an  almost  guilty  surprise  as  they  heard 
Mrs.  Winsor  gasp.  Noll  whirled  and  turned  to  support 
her  to  a  chair.  She  would  not  be  checked  from  approaching 
the  strange  visitor.  First  she  drew  the  skirt  down  below 
one  revealed  bruised  knee.  The  skirt  would  not  reach  the 
shoe-tops ;  it  was  of  a  fine  stuff.  The  stockings  were  of  silk, 
the  shoes  of  an  excellent  leather.  Mrs.  Winsor  brushed  a 
loop  of  hair  back  from  the  closed  eyelids,  took  off  the 
crumpled  hat  with  difficulty,  lifting  the  head  in  terror  to 
take  the  long  pins  from  the  wet  hair.  She  saw  that  the 
invader  was  dangerously  pretty.  There  were  raindrops 
on  her  face  like  tears,  and  in  her  hair  like  pearls.  Mrs. 
Winsor  felt  that  if  the  great  eyelids  were  to  open,  they 
would  stare  in  amazement,  and  the  long  pale  lips  would 
babble  a  strange  story. 

She  put  her  old,  cold  hand  on  the  girl's  hand,  and  it  was 
colder  than  hers.  She  could  not  find  a  throb  in  the  wrist 
where  the  pulse  lurks.  She  studied  the  palms;  they  were 
delicate,  without  calluses.  The  fingers  were  soft  and  slim, 
and  the  nails  had  been  well  kept,  though  they  were  cut 
close  to  the  finger-tips.  That  struck  her  as  odd.  The 
finger-tips  themselves  were  rather  blunt. 

She  marveled  at  those  hands;  what  instruments  of  terror 
they  were !  Hands  can  do — those  hands  might  have  done — 
such  graceful,  such  hateful,  beautiful,  loathsome,  terrible, 
exquisite  things. 

"We  ought  to  send  for  a  doctor,"  she  sighed.  "My 
doctor  is  out  of  town." 

"The  marshal  will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  said  Ward 
Pennywell. 

Mrs.  Winsor  sank  back  into  the  chair  her  son  brought 
to  her,  and  gazed  at  the  peculiar  visitor  from  nowhere. 
She  said  to  Ward  Pennywell: 

"I  heard  a  girl  scream,  Ward.     It  wasn't  this  girl." 

7 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"No,  it  was — it  was — the  girl  I  was  with." 

"Who  was  that,  Ward?" 

"I  think  I  hear  the  marshal  driving  up."  He  hurried 
out. 

Mrs.  Winsor  turned  to  her  son  and  spoke  firmly :  "What 
kept  you  so  late,  honey?" 

Til  tell  you  afterward,  Mother." 
'Do  you  know  who  this  poor  creature  is?" 
'No,  Mother." 

'Did  you  ever  see  her  before?" 

'I  don't  think  so.  There's  the  marshal.  I'll  let  him 
in.' 

The  marshal  arrived,  important  with  his  office  but  very 
deferential  as  usual  to  people  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
arresting. 

"Evening,  Miz  Winsor.  Kind  of  rainy  to-night.  Been 
looking  like  rain  all  day.  Kind  of  looks  like  all  night  now. 
What's  this  I  hear  about  finding  a  girl?  That  her? 
Humph!  How'd  it  happen?" 

Mrs.  Winsor  did  not  tell  him  that  she  had  seen  two 
shadows  enter  the  shadow  of  the  old  maple,  and  only  one 
shadow  come  forth  and  flee.  She  had  an  intuition  that 
she  ought  to  keep  out  of  it. 

She  nodded  to  Ward  Pennywell  and  let  him  describe  how 
he  was  on  his  way  home  when  he  stumbled  over  something, 
lighted  a  match,  saw  what  it  was  and  lost  no  time  in  notify 
ing  the  police.  He  said  this  with  a  sort  of  boastfulness,  as 
if  he  were  showing  what  a  law-abider  he  was.  He  did  not 
mention  the  fact  that  he  was  with  a  girl  who  screamed. 
Neither  did  Mrs.  Winsor.  Neither  did  Noll.  Pennywell's 
eyes  seemed  to  ask  them  not  to.  Mrs.  Winsor  felt  that  the 
mutual  forbearance  was  a  fair  exchange. 

The  marshal  stood  and  scowled  down  at  the  girl  and 
pulled  his  long  mustaches,  as  if  to  milk  them  of  some  in 
telligence.  Mrs.  Winsor  stared  from  him  to  the  girl  and  to 
the  young  men.  The  influence  of  that  still  white  being,  the 
very  blossom  of  youth  fallen  from  the  tree,  was  strangely 
various. 

All  four  were  afraid  of  her,  each  with  his  own  fear.  Mrs. 
Winsor  noted  a  kind  of  resentful  anxiety  in  Pennywell's 

8 


Mrs.  Winsor  felt  that  if  the  great  eyelids  were  to  open, 
they  would  stare  in  amazement,  and  the  long  pale  lips 
would  babble  a  strange  story. 


eyes,  as  if  he  were  blaming  the  girl  for  getting  him  into 
trouble  and  yet  found  her  enticingly  attractive. 

Noll  regarded  her  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  his  eyes  seeming 
to  touch  her  beauty  and  her  grace  with  timid  attention. 
Youth  was  seeing  youth  wrecked.  Mrs.  Winsor  felt  a  new 
fear  for  her  son;  a  son  is  a  dangerous  weapon  that  a 
woman  forges  for  another  woman's  capture  or  protection 
or  destruction.  And  Mrs.  Winsor,  having  been  a  girl  like 
this  one,  and  after  that  a  wife  and  a  mother  and  a  widow 
and  an  elder,  understood  how  much  of  life  this  girl  had 
begun  and  how  much  she  had  missed. 

The  marshal  was  both  citizen  and  policeman,  a  sporting- 
man  with  a  cynical  experience,  and  a  man  of  the  law  who 
must  not  be  baffled.  He  cleared  his  throat  with  an  effort 
at  importance  that  only  admitted  his  confusion. 

"Kind  of  nice-lookin'  kid !"  he  suggested.  " Right  smart 
of  a  dresser.  Don't  suppose  she's  just  kind  of  fainted,  do 
you?" 

"Kind  of"  was  with  the  marshal  a  kind  of  deprecating 
expression,  a  shading  of  too  downright  conviction. 

"Put  something  under  her  feet,"  said  Mrs.  Winsor,  "so 
that  the  blood  will  go  back  to  her  head." 

The  three  men  started  with  surprise  at  the  command, 
and  recoiled  a  little.  Each  waited  for  the  other;  then  Noll 
went  forward  and,  taking  a  cushion  from  the  sofa,  lifted 
the  feet  with  reluctance  a  little,  and  stuffed  the  cushion 
under  them.  His  mother  was  glad  to  see  how  this  simple 
contact  terrified  him. 

The  girl's  head  was  upheld  by  the  opposite  arm  of  the 
sofa.  Mrs.  Winsor  indicated  this  with  a  gesture,  and  Noll 
with  new  qualms  laid  hold  of  the  girl's  ankles  and  drew 
her  feet  toward  him  so  that  her  body  slid  along  the  sofa. 
Now  her  chin,  which  had  pressed  down  like  a  bird's  beak 
preening  its  breast,  went  back  with  the  sudden  motion  of 
a  spasm  of  agony,  and  her  throat  was  abruptly  revealed, 
long,  slender,  and  pitiful.  And  now  she  seemed  to  have 
died  indeed.  The  throat  is  the  home  of  pathos,  and  hers 
was  unendurable  with  tragedy. 

Noll  gasped  and  sprang  away.  The  marshal  leaned 
forward  with  a  business-like  determination.  His  coarse 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

fingers  went  to  the  satin  throat,  and  he  bent  close  to 
stare. 

"No  sign  of  bein'  choked,"  he  said.  "No  wounds  any 
where  as  I  can  see." 

He  lifted  a  hand  and  let  it  fall.  The  arm  flopped, 
bending  at  every  joint  with  a  hideous  lifelessness.  Noll 
gasped  aloud.  The  officer  felt  for  her  pulse  and  could  not 
find  it.  Noll  winced  at  his  roughness  with  that  delicate 
wrist. 

The  marshal  waited  awhile  before  he  spoke  again: 

"Kind  of  looks  like  she  ain't  goin'  to  come  to.  She's 
gettin'  cold." 

That  fatal,  icy  word  sent  a  shiver  through  Mrs.  Winsor. 
She  knew  what  it  was  to  have  beings  that  had  lived  grow 
cold. 

"  I  guess  it's  heart  disease  or  p'ralysis,"  the  marshal  said. 
"I  had  a  cousin  just  kind  of  keeled  over  once  thataway. 
Maybe  she  was  just  goin'  along  the  street  when  it  kind  of 
took  her.  Too  bad!" 

"But  how  about — "  Mrs.  Winsor  had  begun  to  ask, 
"  But  how  about  the  man  that  was  with  her  and  ran  away?" 
But  she  glanced  at  her  son  again,  and  he  was  shaken 
with  such  agitation  that  she  clenched  her  lips  on  the 
words. 

The  marshal  waited  for  her  to  go  on.  When  she  did  not 
he  said,  "What  say?" 

And  she  merely  asked,  "  How  about  sending  for  a  doctor?" 

"  I  guess  we  better.     No  need  hurrying  the  coroner." 

This  ghastly  word  smote  Noll  Winsor  like  a  club. 

The  marshal  went  to  the  hall,  leaving  the  three  alone 
with  the  girl.  They  felt  unprotected,  outnumbered  by  her 
terrible  powers,  with  no  officer  of  the  law  to  protect  them 
from  her. 

The  marshal  spent  an  eternity  fumbling  with  the  book. 

"I'll  go,"  said  Noll,  impatiently. 

From  where  he  stood  in  the  hall  he  could  see  the  girl 
lying  like  a  form  cast  up  by  the  sea.  He  turned  from  her, 
looked  back.  She  must  have  danced  well.  She  was  so 
shapely.  He  rebuked  himself  for  thinking  of  the  shape  of 
the  dead.  He  felt  that  people  must  never  dance  any  more, 

10 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

now  that  such  beauty  was  ruined.  Perhaps  she  was  not 
quite  dead.  It  seemed  impossible  that  grace  like  hers 
should  be  brought  to  perfection  only  to  be  drowned  in 
nothingness.  The  doctor  might  save  her,  if  he  came  at 
once.  Noll  commanded  his  immediate  presence. 

Noll's  haste  brought  a  flare  of  joy  in  his  mother's  heart. 
He  could  not  be  impatient  for  the  doctor's  arrival  if  he 
were  guilty  of  the  girl's  murder. 

She  only  smiled,  reproaching  herself  for  the  treachery 
of  her  suspicion.  She  wanted  to  tell  him  of  it  and  beg 
his  forgiveness.  But  the  confession  was  impossible  in 
Ward  Pennywell's  presence.  And  now  that  the  doctor 
was  coming  she  felt  she  had  no  right  to  tell  the  marshal  of 
the  man  who  had  slunk  away.  The  poor  girl  might  be 
brought  back  to  life,  and  be  hurt  by  the  publication  of  her 
secret.  What  the  marshal  got,  the  newspapers  got.  So 
she  postponed  again. 

The  marshal  was  studying  the  girl.  He  ran  his  fingers 
into  her  hair  and  about  her  head.  The  sensitive  Noll, 
to  whom  a  woman's  hair  was  almost  sacred,  resented  his 
profanation.  But  the  marshal  did  not  notice  him.  He 
mumbled : 

"Skull's  all  right.  She  'ain't  been  hit  with  nothin' — or 
throttled.  If  she  was  stabbed  or  shot  there'd  be  plenty 
of  signs.  It's  kind  of  mysterious.  No  sign  of  poison 
around  her  mouth.  But  she's  kind  of  still  and  cold.  Who 
is  she,  anyway?  Any  of  you  ever  see  her  before?" 

All  three  shook  their  heads.     The  marshal  was  shocked. 

"I  'ain't  ever  seen  her  myself.  Keep  track  of  'most 
everybody.  I  meet  most  of  the  trains.  Nobody  like  her 
has  stepped  off  one  the  last  few  days.  Wonder  who  her 
folks  are.  I  guess  it's  kind  of  up  to  me  to  search  her  for 
what  the  feller  calls  a  clue." 

He  put  out  his  hands,  but  they  kind  of  retracted  them 
selves  before  Noll  made  a  leap  at  him;  his  only  protest  was 
a  strangled  groan.  "  Don't!  Don't  touch  her!" 

The  marshal  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "What's  it  to  you, 
young  feller?" 

"  I  can't  bear  to  see  your  big  old  hands  on  her." 

The  marshal  laughed  sheepishly  and  said:  "Maybe  you 

ii 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

better  do  the  searchin',  Miz  Winsor.  It's  a  kind  of  lady's 
job." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Winsor.  "I  guess  we'd 
better  all  wait  till  the  doctor  comes." 

"I'll  be  going  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  Ward  Pennywell. 

"I  do  mind,"  said  the  marshal.  "Set  right  where  you 
air!" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Nobody  spoke.  All  stared 
and  waited  for  the  girl  to  rise.  But  she  did  not  budge.  Her 
breast  did  not  lift  with  a  breath;  her  nostrils  were  as  still 
as  marble.  Her  attitude  was  one  of  such  discomfort  that 
a  living  being  would  surely  have  moved.  Noll  was  tempted 
to  go  to  her  assistance,  but  he  lacked  the  power. 

By  and  by  the  door-bell  whirred  and  Noll  went  to  admit 
the  doctor. 

The  silence  in  the  hall  was  so  profound  that  Mrs.  Winsor 
could  hear  the  rustle  of  the  doctor's  raincoat  as  he  took 
it  off  and  hung  it  on  the  hall-tree.  He  shook  hands  with 
Mrs.  Winsor  and  then  turned  to  the  girl.  He  was  amazed. 
He  went  in  haste  to  her  as  if  drawn  by  a  rope.  He  gripped 
the  girl's  wrist,  and  his  two  finger-tips  listened  in  vain  for 
the  pulse-beat;  the  other  hand  went  to  her  forehead.  He 
knelt  down  and  peered  into  her  face  as  if  he  would  kiss  her. 
He  put  his  cheek  close  to  her  lips.  He  cupped  his  palm 
over  her  heart.  He  pushed  back  one  eyelid,  and  he  alone 
knew  what  color  the  iris  was.  He  got  no  reassuring  mes 
sage  from  the  stare  that  answered  him.  The  pupil  was 
dilated.  The  eye  did  not  follow  his.  He  lighted  a  match 
and  moved  it  before  the  eye,  with  no  effect.  He  put  his 
cheek  on  the  girl's  left  breast  and  rested  there.  He  shook 
his  head  again.  He  opened  the  little  hand-bag  he  had 
brought  in  from  his  car,  took  out  a  stethoscope,  and,  swiftly 
unfastening  the  girl's  frock  at  the  neck  and  throwing  it 
back,  set  the  instrument  over  the  heart.  Noll  turned  away 
with  something  of  the  terror  of  Noah's  better  sons,  but 
Ward  Pennywell  stared  like  Ham  till  Mrs.  Winsor  glared 
him  away. 

"Get  me  a  mirror,  will  you?"  Doctor  Mitford  mumbled. 

Noll  ran  up  the  stairs  and  ran  down  with  his  shaving- 
glass.  Kirke  held  it  in  front  of  the  girl's  nostrils,  then  he 

12 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

stared  at  it,  found  a  dim  vapor  on  its  surface  and  gave 
a  little  gasp  of  joy. 

"She's  not  gone — yet!"  he  muttered.  And  now  he  was 
in  a  mood  of  snarling  rapture.  He  was  the  young  doctor 
challenging  old  Death  to  a  duel.  From  his  knees  he  spoke 
to  Mrs.  Winsor. 

"I  don't  know  what's  wrong,  but  there's  not  much  life 
in  her.  If  I  take  her  to  the  hospital  in  this  cold  rain — " 

"Certainly  not.  The  spare  room!  Noll,  run  up  and 
make  a  light." 

Noll  hurried,  but  Mitford  was  right  after  him.  He  rose, 
gathered  the  almost  soulless  bundle  of  flesh  into  his  arms  and 
carried  her  up  to  bed  as  if  she  were  a  Sabine,  the  girl's  nod 
ding  head  and  swaying  arms  hanging  at  Mitford's  shoulder. 

Mrs.  Winsor  hobbled  out  and  labored  up  the  stairs  and 
was  glad  to  find  that  necessity  gave  her  strength.  Neces 
sity  is  the  supreme  tonic. 

The  young  doctor  called  to  Noll:  "Take  off  her  shoes. 
No,  run  fill  a  hot-water  bag — two  if  you  have  'em.  Hurry! 
Mrs.  Winsor,  you  might  unfasten  these  infernal  hooks  while 
I  take  off  her  shoes  and  stockings." 

Their  struggle  for  her  life  rendered  the  ordinary  delicacies 
contemptible  for  the  moment.  The  waif  had  both  a  valet 
and  a  maid. 

While  Mrs.  Winsor  was  at  her  task  Doctor  Mitford  was 
in  and  out  and  up  and  down  stairs,  equipping  himself  for 
the  contest.  He  snatched  the  hot-water  bottles  from  Noll 
and  sent  him  to  telephone  the  drug-store  for  stimulants, 
the  hospital  for  a  pulmotor  and  a  trained  nurse,  his  own 
boarding-house  for  his  electric  battery. 

He  ran  out  into  the  kitchen  and  used  the  steaming  kettle 
for  a  sterilizer.  He  filled  his  hypodermic  needle.  He 
turned  the  house  upside  down,  but  he  gave  the  comforting 
impression  that  he  was  neglecting  nothing. 

In  one  of  his  charges  through  the  sitting-room  he  was 
checked  by  the  marshal : 

"Say,  Doc,  just  a  moment." 

"Can't  spare  a  second,  Chief." 

"Hold  on!  I  just  want  to  ask  you  is  they  any  use  my 
hangin'  'round  any  longer?" 

13 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"  Not  the  slightest;  you're  absolutely  no  use — just  in  the 
way." 

"All  right.  You  needn't  wait,  neither,  Ward.  Consider 
yourself  arrested  or  somethin'.  I'll  let  you  know  when  I 
need  you.  I'm  goin*  out  to  look  'round  that  tree  with  my 
flashlight,  and  see  if  she's  lost  anything  that  '11  give  a  kind 
of  clue  or  somethin'.  Night,  Doc." 

A  little  later  the  door-bell  rang  and  Noll  answered  him. 
It  was  the  marshal. 

"Tell  the  doc  I  didn't  find  nothin',"  he  said,  and  left. 

Noll  sat  on  the  top  step  of  the  stairway,  pondering  deeply, 
profoundly  shaken  by  the  invasion  of  this  eerie  ghost- woman. 
Meanwhile  the  young  doctor,  who  had  had  none  too  much 
experience,  was  trying  to  make  the  most  of  his  few  weapons. 

Mrs.  Winsor,  acting  as  a  sort  of  chaperon,  hovered 
about.  She  spent  most  of  her  time  examining  the  girl's 
clothes  for  some  clue.  There  was  no  dressmaker's  label 
on  her  frock,  no  laundry  mark  on  her  linen.  The  name  of 
the  maker  of  her  shoes  was  blurred. 

There  was  just  one  bit  of  treasure  trove  for  Mrs. Winsor.  A 
silk  money-belt  was  fastened  about  the  girl's  waist,  and  in  the 
pockets  of  that  she  found  several  little  clumps  of  money, 
new  money  that  had  never  been  spent  even  once — several 
thousand  dollars  in  large  bills — and  two  diamond  rings. 
That  was  all  she  found. 

She  showed  the  wealth  to  the  doctor.  He  pushed  it 
aside  brusquely. 

"It  doesn't  interest  me  how  much  she's  worth.  The 
thing  is  can  I  get  her  back." 

Mrs.  Winsor  struggled  out  into  the  hall  and  sank  down 
on  the  step  at  Noll's  side.  She  showed  him  the  money  and 
the  money-belt.  He  counted  it  expertly — four  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  forty-five  dollars.  It  was  a  larger 
sum  than  either  of  them  had  ever  seen  at  once  before 
in  that  house.  Noll  handled  money  in  bundles  at  the 
bank,  but  this  was  different.  Mrs.  Winsor  looked  over  her 
shoulder  and  gasped  when  the  doctor  opened  the  door. 

"Come  here,  Noll,  and  help  me,"  he  commanded. 

Noll  restored  the  money-belt  to  his  mother.  She  pushed 
it  away. 

14 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  keep  it.     It  frightens  me  to  death." 

He  showed  the  money  to  Mitford. 

"Put  it  up,"  said  Mitford,  "  and  take  hold  of  her 
feet  and  help  me  carry  her  over  to  that  couch  by  the 
light." 

Noll  suffered  anguishes  of  modesty.  He  seemed  to  be 
committing  a  lynchable  offense  in  embracing  this  young 
woman  to  whom  he  had  never  been  introduced.  She 
\vas  in  one  of  his  mother's  nightgowns  now,  and  she  was 
grotesquely  pretty.  She  was  so  cold  that  she  appalled 
him.  There  was  a  rigidity  about  her  that  chilled  him.  She 
was  as  awkward  as  a  jointed  doll. 

He  had  never  held  a  woman  so;  she  was  unutterably 
fearful  to  him,  and  yet  somehow  ineffably  dear. 

He  prayed,  for  her  and  to  her,  not  to  leave  him.  He 
vaguely  remembered  Walt  Whitman's  lines  to  the  wounded 
soldier: 


Hang  all  your  weight  on 

By  God,  I  will  not  let  you  die. 

He  suffered  cruelly  with  the  assaults  the  doctor  was  mak 
ing  on  the  citadels  of  her  soul's  retreat.  Mitford  tried  by 
loud  noises,  by  flashing  lights,  to  startle  her  to  her  windows. 
He  set  to  her  nose  a  bottle  of  ammonia  that  almost  blinded 
Noll  with  its  knife-like  odor.  Noll  was  nauseated  with  the 
loathsome  shock  of  asafetida,  but  her  exquisite  nostrils 
showed  no  repugnance. 

"Don't!"  he  growled  at  last.     "You're  hurting  her." 

"No,  I'mnot,"  saidMitford.    "I'm  trying  to,  but  I  can't." 

After  every  effort  Mitford  stepped  back,  baffled  yet  some 
how  convinced  by  failure  that  success  was  waiting  for  the 
lucky  try. 

Noll  thought  of  him  as  of  one  of  the  priests  of  Baal  trying 
to  lure  his  god  to  answer,  while  Elijah  taunted  :  "  Cry  aloud. 
.  .  .  Either  he  is  talking  or  pursuing  or  in  a  journey." 

Doctor  Mitford  had  not  awakened  the  first  hint  of  life 
when  the  trained  nurse  came  and  took  Noll's  place.  He 
had  to  leave  the  room.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  deserted  his 
charge.  The  door  was  closed  on  him. 

He  took  up  a  vigil-place  on  the  stairs.  He  heard  strange 

IS 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

noises  in  the  spare  room,  which  Mitford  had  turned  into 
a  laboratory.  He  wondered  what  they  were  doing,  the 
nurse  and  the  doctor.  He  knew  that  they  were  hurting 
her,  or  hoping  to.  There  was  so  much  pain  on  earth,  it 
seemed  better  to  let  her  sleep  on  out  of  the  ugly  world. 
And  yet  it  seemed  that  her  life  was  too  precious  to  be  sur 
rendered,  at  any  cost. 

He  fell  asleep  at  last  in  the  turbulence  of  his  own  emo 
tions.  He  was  wakened  by  Mitford's  shaking  his  arm. 
The  hall  was  lighted  ambiguously  by  the  gas  and  by  the 
daylight  round  the  chinks  of  the  curtain.  Seeing  the 
desperate  look  in  Mitford's  face,  Noll  said : 

"  How  is  she  ?     Is  she — ' ' 

"She's  not  dead,  anyway." 

"Oh,  thank  God!" 

"Don't  be  too  previous.  If  it's  the  sleeping  sickness, 
she'll  just  fade  away.  I'm  all  in!" 

He  stumbled  down  the  stairway,  and  Noll  caught  his 
elbow  to  keep  him  from  pitching  forward  headlong. 

"What  do  you  think  caused  her — death-sleep,  or  what 
ever  it  is?" 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea.  I've  made  a  thorough 
examination.  I  can't  find  anything  wrong.  I  wonder  who 
the  dickens  she  is  and  where  the  devil  she  comes  from." 

"Goodnight!" 

"Good  morning!" 

Noll  staggered  to  his  own  room.  As  he  pulled  down 
the  curtain  he  saw  the  doctor  clambering  into  his  car. 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  Noll  woke  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock.  The 
sound  of  the  door-bell  roused  him.  He  sat  up 
in  bed  with  a  start  and  a  flush  of  guilt. 

He  had  heartlessly  forgotten  the  new  guest  altogether. 
He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  especially  as  it  was  the  doctor 
whose  ring  had  wakened  him.  His  mother  was  awake,  and 
had  breakfasted.  The  nurse  was  a  trifle  jaded  but  still 
alert.  Doctor  Mitford  was  corning  out  of  the  room  by  the 
time  Noll  was  dressed.  He  asked,  anxiously: 

'Is  she  alive?" 

'Yes  and  no." 

'What  does  that  mean?" 

'There's  no  sign  of  her  waking." 

'Drugged?" 

'No." 

'What  put  her  to  sleep?" 

'I  wish  I  knew." 

'How  are  you  going  to  wake  her?" 

'I  wish  I  knew." 

'  How  long  will  she  sleep?" 

'  How  can  I  tell  ?     It  may  be  for  hours,  weeks — it  may 


be 


forever!" 


'  I  should  think  she'd  starve." 

'She  will  if  I  don't  find  some  way  to  feed  her.  If  it 
should  be  the  sleeping  sickness,  there's  little  hope.  I've 
been  reading  that  up.  It's  pretty  nearly  unknown  among 
Caucasians  except  by  importation  from  Africa,  and  it's 
nearly  always  fatal.  A  gradual  emaciation  ends  in  death 
without  waking." 

Noll's  young  soul  rejected  such  a  possibility  as  too  cruel 
to  be  true — as  if  anything  imaginable  were  too  cruel  to  be 
true. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"She's  not  going  to  die.     Something  tells  me  that!" 

"  Something-tells-me  is  hardly  a  prognosis,"  said  Mitford. 
"But  there's  nothing  to  indicate  the  sleeping  sickness. 
And  there's  nothing  to  indicate  that  she  is  unconscious 
from  a  blow.  There's  only  one  other  theory  left — hys 
teria." 

"Hysteria?  Why,  I  thought  when  women  had  hysteria 
they  made  a  lot  of  noise  and  tore  their  hair  and  cried  and 
laughed  at  the  same  time." 

"  Not  always.  Sometimes  they  have  fits  of  sleep.  They 
fall  into  just  such  a  lethargy  as  this.  They  grow  cold  and 
white;  the  heart-beat  is  almost  impossible  to  trace;  they 
seem  to  be  dead.  And  sometimes  they  have  been  buried 
in  careless  haste  and  have  wakened  afterward — 

"That's  the  cataleptic  trance  I've  heard  about,"  Noll 
said.  "For  God's  sake,  don't  make  any  mistakes  with 
her." 

He  stared  at  the  girl  with  a  new  emotion.  His  glance 
was  curious,  dubious;  his  eyes  quizzed  her. 

"Hysteria,"  he  pondered.  "That  sounds  kind  of  in 
sincere.  It's  one  way  of  shamming,  isn't  it?" 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  shamming,"  said 
Mitford.  "  Who  can  tell  when  the  real  ends  and  the  sham 
begins?  And  when  people  are  shamming,  why  are  they 
shamming?" 

"  Because  they  are  insincere,  of  course." 

"  Then  why  are  they  insincere?  Back  of  the  pretense  is 
a  sincere  reason  somewhere.  What  is  that  reason  ?  Maybe 
when  people  only  pretend,  they  are  just  as  sincere  as  when 
they  are  perfectly  candid." 

"  You're  wandering  round  in  circles,  Kirke,  shaking  hands 
with  yourself  and  telling  yourself  good-by.  About  as  far 
as  I  can  follow  you  is  that  you  seem  to  claim  that  people 
have  no  self-control.  Don't  you  believe  that  people  are 
captains  of  their  souls,  as  Henley  said?" 

"No,  I  don't!"  said  the  doctor.  "Henley  wasn't  the 
captain  of  his  own  soul.  He  was  more  like  the  passenger 
of  his  soul,  and  his  soul  was  a  passenger  in  his  body,  and 
it  was  a  rickety  ship  at  that.  This  poor  girl,  if  she's  sham 
ming,  must  be  the  victim  of  herself  or  something — " 

18 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Or  somebody,  maybe!"  said  Noll,  then  wished  he 
hadn't. 

It  seemed  grossly  unchivalrous  to  be  standing  so  near  to 
her  and  discussing  her  so  frankly;  for  if  she  were  indeed 
conscious,  she  must  be  overhearing  their  comments.  Yet 
how  could  she  be  conscious  and  keep  so  still?  The  self- 
grip  it  would  require  to  deny  herself  all  motion,  even  to 
the  longing  for  one  deep  breath,  was  inconceivable  to  Noll. 
His  own  chest  ached  at  the  thought.  He  had  had  pleurisy, 
and  he  knew  the  priceless  luxury  of  a  great  free  gulp  of  air. 
A  spasm  of  protest  went  through  all  his  muscles  at  the 
thought  of  so  prolonged  a  voluntary  immobility. 

He  beckoned  Mitford  to  another  room.  "What  sort 
of  thing  causes  that  sort  of  thing?"  he  asked,  gropingly 

"Some  great  soul-shock." 

"What  sort  of  shock?" 

"Oh,  a  sudden  disillusionment,  a  terrifying  insult  or — 
oh,  anything  that  may  shatter  a  young  woman's  innocence 
or  faith  in  somebody  or  in  herself — some  sort  of  mental 
lightning-stroke  that  causes  a  spiritual  lockjaw." 

This  opened  all  the  riddles  of  sphinxdom. 

"What  on  earth  could  it  have  been  in  her  case?"  Noll 
groaned.  "Who  on  earth  is  she,  anyway?" 

Who  she  was,  and  whence,  and  whither  bound,  and  why 
— these  were  problems  that  had  also  disturbed  Marshal 
Dakin. 

Doctor  Mitford  canceled  all  the  marshal's  suggested 
theories  of  drugs,  knock-out  drops,  knock-out  blows,  and 
poison-needles.  The  marshal,  eager  to  do  something  and 
arrest  somebody,  suggested  taking  the  girl  into  custody  as 
a  vagrant.  Doctor  Mitford  sniffed  at  that  and  reminded 
him  that  she  had  money  in  abundance.  That  assured 
her  the  marshal's  respect. 

"Maybe  I  better  put  Ward  Pennywell  in  the  cooler 
awhile." 

"For  what?    No  crime  has  been  committed  yet." 

"Well,  I  feel  like  I  kind  of  ought  to  be  doin'  something. 
Suppose  I  send  out  a  general  alarm  to  find  out  who  this 
girl  is.  I  can  put  a  description  of  her  on  the  wire  to 
Chicawga,  Sent  Louis,  Sent  Paul,  Sent  Joe,  K.  C.,  N'York, 

19 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Denver — all  the  big  places.  How  would  you  describe  her? 
Or  wouldn't  it  be  best  to  have  a  photograph  taken?  I'll 
send  up  somebody." 

"No,  you  won't,"  Noll  broke  in.  "You  let  her  alone. 
Suppose  you  send  the  alarm  all  over  the  country  and  all 
the  newspapers  print  the  story,  and  her  picture,  and  she 
wakes  up,  and  finds  that  she's  notorious  everywhere. 
She  may  be  just  some  nice  young  girl  going  home  from 
boarding-school,  or  called  back  by  her  sick  brother,  and 
she  may  have  lost  her  way,  or  lost  her  head.  You'll  ruin 
her  life  for  her.  You've  no  right  to  expose  her  to  the 
world  that  way.  Besides,  she's  a  guest  in  our  house." 

The  marshal  was  human  and  a  father,  and  like  other 
policemen  was  addicted  to  all-day  siestas  taken  standing 
or  slumping  in  a,  chair,  with  bits  of  excitement  few  and 
far  between.  When  Doctor  Mitford  urged  that  his  patient 
must  not  be  disturbed,  the  marshal  consented  and  sauntered 
back  to  his  chief  occupation,  waiting  for  something  to 
happen. 

At  the  jail,  however,  he  went  over  his  lists  of  missing 
girls  for  whom  advertisement  or  confidential  inquiry  was 
constantly  made.  There  were  portraits  of  escaped  crimi 
nals,  clever  forgers,  badgers,  shoplifters,  bigamists,  poi 
soners,  convicts.  But  none  of  them  resembled  ever  so 
faintly  the  dreamer  at  the  Winsors'. 

So  the  marshal  tipped  his  chair  against  the  whitewashed 
wall  and  resumed  his  characteristic  attitude,  ambiguous 
between  sodden  slumber  and  intense  Oriental  umbilical 
meditation. 


CHAPTER  IV 

NOLL  remembered  with  a  start  that  he  was  supposed 
to  be  working  down  at  the  bank.  He  flung  off  the 
spell  of  the  witch  up-stairs  and  dashed  to  the  dining-room 
for  a  snatch  of  breakfast. 

He  gulped  his  coffee  and  his  eggs  and  cornbread,  popped 
a  kiss  on  his  mother's  cheek  and  hurried  down  the  street, 
reading  the  morning  paper  as  he  went,  for  Chicago  and 
St.  Louis  morning  papers  reached  the  town  so  early  that 
they  had  driven  the  local  journals  into  the  afternoon  and 
into  the  confines  of  neighborhood  news. 

This  paper,  as  was  the  habit  of  that  period  of  the  war, 
was  bristling  with  the  stories  of  German  triumph  in  arms. 

Noll  was  glad  of  the  German  victory,  for  three  reasons: 
first,  because  it  would  make  the  bank  president,  Mr,  Bebel, 
more  amiable  toward  Noll's  tardiness,  since  Bebel  was  a 
German;  second,  because  Noll's  own  mother  was  German; 
and  finally,  because  Noll  himself  was  for  her  sake  pro- 
German  in  his  sympathies. 

He  was  heart  and  soul  American,  and  all  his  father's 
people  were  native  to  the  soil  far  back  into  the  i6oo's. 
His  paternal  ancestors  of  various  branches  had  landed  in 
Virginia,  Maryland,  and  the  Carolinas,  had  drifted  west 
to  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  and  then  northwesterly  into 
Illinois,  Missouri,  and  Iowa. 

But  his  mother — Meta  Wieland  was  her  name — had  come 
over  from  Germany  as  a  little  three-year-old  girl  with  her 
father  and  his  two  brothers,  fugitives  from  monarchical 
oppressions  after  the  unsuccessful  struggle  for  liberty  in 
1848. 

Meta  kept  no  trace  of  her  German  birth  in  her  accent, 
but  her  father  kept  her  heart  full  of  love  for  the  Father 
land,  and  though  he  hated  the  Prussian  autocracy  to  his 

21 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

dying  day,  he  adored  the  more  the  home  from  which  he 
had  been  exiled.  His  motto  was  the  motto  of  Kant, 
"The  rights  of  man  are  the  apple  of  God's  eye  on  earth." 

Among  all  the  counterclaims  of  love  and  hate  Noll's 
heart  remained  that  complex  thing  we  call  American. 
When  his  father  died,  his  mother  drifted  back  to  German 
affiliations.  In  the  mid-Western  world  where  Carthage 
was  there  were  many  Germans,  solid,  peaceful,  likable, 
lovable  people,  for  the  most  part.  Their  broken  English 
had  a  familiar  and  comfortable  sound. 

English  born  and  bred  people  were  almost  unknown  and 
the  English  accent  was  thought  of  as  an  Eastern  affectation. 
An  English  lord  in  Carthage  opinion  was  one  who  said 
"Fawncy!"  and  "Baw  Jove!"  incessantly,  misapplied  his 
h's  with  opeless  hignorance  and  thought  that  "Hall 
Hamericans  were  Hindians,  doncherknow." 

Of  the  French  the  Carthage  people  had  only  a  few — an 
amiable  jeweler  and  his  wife  who  were  really  Swiss  and  a 
nervous  French  teacher  or  two.  But  it  was  well  accepted 
in  Carthage  that  with  the  exception  of  Lafayette,  the 
French  were  universally  timid,  volatile,  immoral,  uni 
versally  addicted  to  the  nude  in  art  and  the  untranslatable 
in  literature.  All  Frenchmen  wore  pointed  mustaches  and 
pointed  goatees,  ate  frogs,  and  shrugged  their  shoulders. 

Of  the  Belgians  they  knew  nothing  except  what  they 
had  heard  of  the  Congo  atrocities,  which  even  in  the  report 
were  no  worse  than  the  treatment  of  the  Indians  and  the 
negroes,  but  being  foreign  and  recent  were  regarded  with 
stupefaction.  Russians  and  Austrians  were  myth  simply. 
Italians  were  all  road-builders  or  hand-organists  with 
monkeys.  The  Balkans  were  something  not  understand 
able  at  all. 

Such  was  the  cosmogony  and  ethnology  of  Carthage 
when  the  war  broke  out.  The  Allies  had  far  less  friends 
than  the  Germans  there,  in  contrast  to  the  East. 

The  counterweights  against  full  sympathy  with  Germany 
were  a  sense  of  contempt  for  the  ridiculous  pretensions  of 
the  Kaiser,  a  memory  of  German  hostility  to  America  in 
Samoa  and  in  Manila  and  throughout  the  Spanish  War, 
and  a  vague  acquaintance  with  the  oppressive  militarism 

22 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

of  the  Prussians.  The  Kaiser's  mustaches  were  a  joke, 
and  the  goose-step  was  a  favorite  thing  to  burlesque.  The 
Kaiser  was  blamed  for  starting  the  war  and  turning  hard 
times  into  panic. 

The  mid- West,  which  abominated  Mexican  cruelty  and 
spoke  of  Villa  as  worse  than  an  Apache,  was  suddenly  be 
wildered  to  see  Villa  outdone  by  the  tender-hearted,  music- 
loving,  science-fostering  Germans.  Men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  who  had  been  brought  up  to  believe  that  the  Amer 
icans  had  done  a  noble  deed  when  they  ambushed  the 
British  after  Lexington  and  Concord,  who  had  been  proud 
of  the  embattled  farmers  for  blazing  away  from  every 
stone  wall  and  rail  fence  at  the  uniformed  troops  of  their 
king — these  people  could  not  understand  the  policy  that 
burned  towns  and  shot  hostages  by  the  score  because, 
forsooth,  certain  Belgians  were  accused  of  firing  from 
windows  and  fields  at  the  invaders  of  their  soil. 

And  now  England,  hastening  to  the  rescue  of  Belgium, 
lost  her  old  name  of  tyrant  and  became  a  savior.  The 
French,  who  had  been  thought  of  as  weaklings  because 
their  petty  third  Napoleon  flung  them  into  an  unpopular 
war  and  their  cheap  generals  led  them  into  traps  and 
surrendered  them  wholesale — the  French  were  suddenly 
redeemed  in  the  far-off  mid- Western  opinion  by  their  sub 
lime  levee  en  masse. 

It  was  then  that  the  sweet  and  peaceful  name  of  "Ger 
man"  was  cast  aside  for  the  indignant  sobriquet  of  "Hun." 

There  grew  a  vast  tempest  in  the  simmering  teapot  of 
Carthage,  and  the  Germans  were  hard  put  to  it  to  uphold 
their  claim  on  respect  and  affection.  The  blacker  the 
crimes  of  one's  nation,  the  whiter  seems  the  duty  of  up 
holding  them  against  alien  criticism. 

Noll  was  troubled  enough  at  first,  and  he  kept  quiet 
during  the  first  turbulent  discussions.  But  when  the  talk 
began  to  run  wild  that  atrocity  was  natural  to  the  Germans 
and  that  all  Germans  were  Huns,  his  heart  suddenly  blazed 
with  the  fiery  truth  that  his  beloved,  adored,  devoted, 
ineffably  revered  mother  was  a  German.  And  then  he 
grew  fanatic  in  defense. 

It  was  all  the  Kaiser's  fault  that  Noll  Winsor  came 

23 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

home  late  the  night  before  with  bruised  knuckles.  He  hac? 
gone  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  after  supper  for  a  few  games  of 
pool.  And  on  his  way  home  he  had  dropped  in  at  the  soda- 
fountain  where  the  beauty  and  chivalry  of  Carthage  were 
wont  to  convene. 

Duncan  Guthrie,  all  dressed  up  for  a  party,  happened 
in  also  to  get  some  courtplaster  for  a  cut  he  had  inflicted 
on  himself  in  shaving  for  the  dance.  He  had  lingered  for 
a  little  chatter  with  a  few  of  the  common  herd  who 
were,  like  Noll,  omitted  from  Edna  Sperry's  invitation 
list. 

Since  the  European  war  affected  every  conversation,  it 
came  up  here,  and  Guthrie  tossed  the  word  "  Hun  "  into  the 
discussion.  Noll,  in  fealty  to  his  mother's  fatherland, 
answered  with  heat  and  pressed  the  debate  to  a  point 
where  fists  became  arguments. 

He  sent  Duncan  Guthrie  spinning  among  the  tall  stools 
and  the  wire  chairs  about  the  little  tables. 

Having  proved  the  thorough  gentleness  of  the  Teutonic 
nature  by  another  bit  of  Schrecklichkeit  and  having  been 
ordered  from  the  drug-store  by  the  neutral  pharmacist, 
Noll  had  gone  home  to  his  belated  mother  and  the  events 
of  the  night  before. 

He  thought  of  these  things  this  morning  as  he  hastened 
to  the  bank,  reading  of  the  swift  German  capture  of  im 
pregnable  Antwerp  and  the  flight  of  the  British  by  the 
water  and  of  the  Belgians  over  the  back  fence  on  October 
loth. 

Mr.  Bebel,  the  president,  was  so  rosy  with  this  proof 
that  the  war  would  be  brief  and  glorious  that  he  smiled 
fatly  at  Noll  and  accepted  his  apology  with  a  jovial 
"  'S  macht  nichts  aus."  That  was,  indeed,  one  of  the 
Carthage  names  for  a  German — a  Moxnixaus. 

When  Noll  went  home  that  afternoon  he  found  guests :  old 
Professor  Treulieb,  the  music-teacher — tall,  lean,  florid — 
his  roly-poly  wife  and  his  daughter,  Isolde,  a  young  woman 
as  sweet  and  graceful  as  the  violin  she  played. 

Old  Treulieb  had  a  ferocious  temper  alternating  rapidly 
with  a  ferocious  tenderness.  He  had  endured  for  years 
the  piano-side  martyrdom  of  a  Teuton  from  the  Leipzig 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Konservatorioom  trying  to  rap  into  the  knuckles  of  young- 
American  animals  the  ah-bay-tsays  of  moozeek. 

Noll  had  been  his  despair.  Noll  loved  music — but  he 
would  not  practice  it.  He  had  calf-loved  the  old  professor's, 
daughter  Isolde  when  they  were  both  young,  but  the 
girl's  tireless  devotion  to  her  fiddle  and  her  scholarship  in 
music  had  terrified  him. 

She  had  wakened  a  brief  fire  of  jealousy  in  his  breast 
a  year  before  when  one  of  Noll's  German  cousins  had 
visited  Carthage.  Noll's  mother  had  a  sister  who  had 
gone  back  to  Germany  as  a  girl  to  school ;  she  had  married 
there  a  man  named  Duhr  and  raised  a  large  family.  One 
of  her  sons,  Ignatius,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Reserve,  had 
visited  America  on  some  official  business  or  other  which  he 
kept  secret.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  this  visit  to. 
travel  all  the  way  to  Carthage  to  see  his  dear.  Tante  Meta. 
He  had  spent  many  days  there  in  Carthage  marveling  at  the 
oddities  of  mid- Western  civilization.  He  had  fascinated 
Isolde  Treulieb  and  many  other  girls. 

Ignatius — or  Nazi,  as  his  aunt  Meta  called  him — had 
thick,  babyish  lips  and  soft  hands,  and  cheeks  with  a  daub 
of  dollish  red  in  them.  He  had  kissed  the  girls'  hands — . 
and  their  lips,  no  doubt — when  they  walked  out  into  the 
moonlight  with  him  after  the  dances  in  which  he  whirled 
them  giddier  than  ever  with  his  top-spinning  style. 

He  had  sung  them  the  songs  of  Schubert  and  Schumann 
and  Franz  and  Hugo  Wolf — the  tenderest  Lieder  ever 
written — all  about  Ish  leebe  dish,  and  Doo  beest  vee  eine 
Bloome,  Zo  holt  oont  shane  oont  rine,  and  the  song  in  which 
it  said,  as  he  explained,  "Dytschland  is  vair  de  peebles 
speak  Dytsh,"  and  he  had  recounted  how  the  girl  "kissed 
the  youngk  man  in  Cherman."  Many  of  the  Carthage 
girls  wanted  to  know  how  that  was  done. 

Old  Treulieb  had  played  Nazi's  accompaniments,  and 
Isolde  had  sometimes  played  an  obbligato  on  her  violin 
with  heart-searching  tones. 

Nazi  Duhr  had  left  a  void  in  the  town,  and  the  word 
German  had  since  meant  homesweetness.  His  name  haunted 
the  feminine  memory  like  an  echo  that  would  not  die. 

But  Noll  remembered  him  with  resentment  as  a  too-. 
3  25 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

competent  rival.  In  his  pique  he  had  neglected  Isolde  and 
turned  his  heart  to  other  girls,  fluttering  from  this  one  to 
that.  And  now  Edna  Sperry  had  turned  him  down,  and 
his  heart  might  have  reverted  to  Isolde  if  he  had  not  been 
under  the  obsession  of  that  girl  up-stairs.  He  resented 
the  presence  of  callers  who  would  keep  him  from  the  study 
of  that  pretty  puzzle  who  had  come  in  out  of  the  dark  and 
brought  with  her  clouds  of  mystery. 

This  afternoon  the  Treuliebs  were  in  some  agitation.  Noll 
kissed  his  mother  and  shook  hands  all  round  and  asked  why 
they  were  so  solemn  on  a  day  of  such  triumph. 

His  mother  said:  " I  have  been  reading  a  letter  from  my 
poor  sister.  From  Germany  it  is  just  come.  It  is  very 
sad." 

Mrs.  Winsor  pulled  her  spectacles  down  from  her  fore 
head  and  translated,  slowly,  dolefully: 

"DEAREST  SISTER  MINE: 

"Surely  now  the  world  comes  to  an  end.  This  great  war  has 
brought  already  destruction  on  our  home.  What  becomes  of  us  God 
knows  only.  So  soon  the  mobilization  order  comes  out,  the  pension 
of  my  husband  from  the  old  war  with  France  where  he  takes  his 
wound  is  stopped.  He  goes  by  the  savings-bank  for  money ;  the  bank 
will  not  pay.  All  my  three  sons  are  called  to  their  regiments,  the 
Thuringian  regiments.  My  daughters'  husbands  are  called  to  theirs. 

"My  son  Nazi  you  remember  from  his  visit  to  you.  He  loved  you 
much.  He  is  gone  away.  The  sons  of  the  neighbors,  all  have  marched 
away.  Such  tears,  such  tears!  I  have  out  wept  my  eyes.  And  now 
comes  the  hunger.  The  horses  are  taken.  The  men  are  gone.  How 
shall  we  live?  There  is  little  food  in  the  country  and  in  the  cities  yet 
less.  Where  to  get  to  eat  man  knows  not.  I  have  one  only  comfort: 
my  heart  is  old  and  sad,  and  I  shall  not  live -much  more. 

"But  for  my  children  what  is  to  happen?  Nothing  but  wounds 
for  the  dear  boys,  and  for  the  girls  hunger.  Yes,  we  are  now  hungry. 
If  you  can  send  me  a  little  money,  please!  Remember  that  your  sister 
is  hungry.  I  do  not  know  it  it  can  reach  us  through  the  English 
blockade,  but  send  money  a  little.  Remember  your  sister  is  hungry. 
"Ever  lovingly, 

"KONSTANZE." 

Meta's  weak  voice  trailed  away  into  silence.  She  shook 
her  head,  and  tears  slid  down  along  her  cheeks.  The  only 
sound  was  the  drip  of  her  tears  on  the  letter  that  she  held 
in  her  hands. 

26 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Noll  felt  suddenly  the  glory  of  victory  tarnished.  The 
word  had  an  evil  sound.  The  plunging  splendor  of  the 
battle-front  hid  almost  as  much  woe  at  home  as  it  created 
ahead. 

Old  Professor  Treulieb  groaned  "Hunger!"  not  with  the 
English  but  with  the  German  pronunciation.  It  seemed 
to  have  more  pain  in  it,  a  more  animal  sound — "Hoong-er!" 

Being  among  Germans,  he  felt  privileged  to  break  into 
one  of  his  tirades:  "And  now  comes  it!  At  last  the  war 
they  have  wanted  and  worked  for  is  here.  No  more  moosic, 
no  more  art.  Shootingk  only.  To  kill  men!  It  is  the 
Kaiser  who  does  this,  der  oberste  Kriegsherr!  He  begins 
by  burningk  Louvain  and  Malines,  where  Van  Beethoven's 
peoples  comes  out.  Beethoven,  when  he  writes  his  '  Eroica ' 
symphony,  inscribes  it  to  Napoleon,  the  soldier  of  liberty. 
When  Napoleon  makes  himself  emperor,  Beethoven  tears 
up  the  paper.  He  did  the  right.  The  Kaiser  will  bringk 
more  sorrow  by  Germany  as  Napoleon  did.  More  people 
he  will  kill.  Ach  Gott,  where  ends  it  now?" 

His  wife,  always  hunting  comfort,  tried  to  mitigate  his 
frenzy : 

"Be  glad  now  that  we  are  in  America,  where  the  war 
cannot  come.  Here  we  have  music.  Isolde  learns  a  new 
piece  only  yesterday  yet.  Play  it  once,  Isolde." 

Meta  weakly  seconded  the  invitation.  Noll  insisted, 
opened  the  violin-box,  took  the  violin  out,  led  the  dismal 
professor  to  the  piano-stool,  caught  Isolde  by  her  long, 
-^otent  hands  and  dragged  her  to  her  feet. 

Thus  constrained  she  played,  but  with  elegiac  pathos 
though  the  piece  was  the  light  serenade  by  Drdla.  High, 
soaring  tones,  honeyed  double  stoppings,  ethereal  harmonics 
— all  gave  gaiety  a  sorrow  in  beauty. 

As  she  was  fluting  forth  the  harmonics,  the  trained  nurse 
appeared  at  the  door  and  spoke  with  some  asperity : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  would  you  mind  not  playing? 
Those  high  notes  seem  to  disturb  my  patient.  She  moves 
in  her  sleep,  and  it  makes  her  shiver!" 


CHAPTER  V 

ISOLDE  was  covered  with  chagrin  and  regret.  She 
1  hastened  to  put  the  fiddle  away  and  to  explain  that 
she  had  not  known  that  any  one  was  ill  in  the  house. 

Meta  made  the  explanations,  such  as  they  were,  and  the 
Treuliebs  were  voluble  with  wonder.  At  length  they  went 
home;  Noll  could  hardly  endure  their  deliberation  at  the 
door. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Noll  at  the  moment  that  instead 
of  making  Isolde  stop  playing  he  should  rather  have  made 
her  keep  on,  since  the  doctor  had  exhausted  his  ingenuity 
trying  to  shake  off  that  leaden  stupor.  The  doctor  would 
call  in  the  morning.  The  news  could  wait. 

At  dinner  Noll's  mother  talked  only  of  her  sister's  wants. 
She  felt  remorse  at  the  simple  food  of  her  own  table. 
It  seemed  gluttony  to  be  feasting  while  her  sister  starved. 
No  one  could  have  dreamed  how  long  that  fast  would 
endure.  Everybody  counted  on  a  brief  and  bloody  cam 
paign  and  a  long  and  futile  peace-conference.  Noll 
promised  that  he  would  send  money  at  once  to  his  aunt 
Konstanze.  Bebel  had  ways  of  getting  funds  to  neutral 
countries  and  thence  over  the  border. 

When  at  length  his  mother  had  been  put  to  bed  and  for 
his  sake  had  pretended  to  go  peacefully  to  sleep,  Noll 
found  himself  lonely  and  abandoned. 

The  nurse  asked  him  if  he  would  listen  at  the  door  now 
and  then  while  she  went  out  for  a  breath  of  air. 

He  moved  about  his  room  softly  lest  he  wake  his  mother 
or  disturb  the  guest — though  his  mother  was  wide  awake, 
and  the  guest  would  have  resisted  the  trumpets  of  Jericho. 
A  theory  occurred  to  Noll  that  he  might  trace  her  origin 
by  taking  the  numbers  of  the  bank-notes  she  had,  especially 
as  the  money  was  new.  He  took  the  money-belt  frorr 

28 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

concealment,  counted  the  bills  through  again,  noted  down 
the  numbers  and  the  years.  He  might  find  thus  the  bank 
that  had  received  them  from  the  Treasury. 

He  was  about  to  push  the  money  back  into  the  pocket 
of  the  belt  when  he  noted  that  the  machine-stitching  along 
one  seam  had  been  replaced  by  a  bit  of  hand-sewing.  In 
side  the  lining  he  felt  something  crisp — probably  more 
money.  He  hesitated — then  opened  the  seam  and  took 
forth  a  letter. 

He  debated  about  reading  it,  but  not  for  long;  curiosity 
was  backed  up  by  many  better  arguments.  The  letter 
would  perhaps  tell  the  whole  story  and  give  him  the 
address  of  the  girl's  mother  or  father  or  some  guardian. 

With  trepidation  he  began  to  read.  He  noted  that  it 
was  another  letter  from  a  sister  to  a  sister,  but  from  youth 
to  youth.  The  paper  was  of  foreign  make,  but  the  writing 
and  the  language  were  American.  There  was  no  date, 
no  name  or  place,  no  postmark.  This  was  the  letter: 

MY   DARLING  LITTLE   SISTER: 

You  may  never  get  this  letter,  and  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if 
you  didn't.  I  can't  decide  what  to  do.  One  minute  it  seems  too 
cruel  to  write  and  the  next  too  cruel  not  to  write.  So  I  send  it  and 
trust  to  God  to  decide. 

Oh,  my  dear  little  sister,  the  only  bright  thing  in  the  world  is  the 
thought  that  you  will  escape  what  Mamma  and  I  have  had  to  go 
through. 

If  you  never  know  what  became  of  us,  you  will  suffer  and  wonder 
and  perhaps  try  to  find  us.  If  you  do  know,  you  will  suffer  more 
terribly  for  a  while,  but  you  will  know  the  worst,  and  you  will  give 
us  up  as  if  we  were  dead — calmly,  sweetly,  beautifully  dead.  It's  not 
being  sure  that  tortures  the  most;  so  I  write  to  let  you  be  sure  of  us. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you.  But  how  can  I  write  it?  I  can't — I  just  can't. 

This  is  the  second  day.  I  couldn't  write  you  any  more  for  two 
reasons:  First,  I  couldn't — that's  all  there  is  about  it:  and  second, 
they  came  and  interrupted  me — the  Germans. 

We  were  all  so  scared  here  when  the  war  broke  out  and  we  learned 
that  Belgium  had  been  invaded.  We  could  see  from  the  convent 
windows  the  fugitives  stumbling  along  the  roads  carrying  all  sorts  of 
things.  Some  of  them  were  so  pitiful  we  cried — some  of  them  so 
awkward  we  couldn't  help  laughing.  And  now  I  don't  think  I'll 
ever  laugh  or  cry  again.  Pretty  soon  we  began  to  want  to  join  the 
flight,  but  the  Sister  Superior  said  that  if  we  weren't  safe  in  a  convent 
there  was  no  safety  anywhere.  But  we  heard  such  horrible  things  and 
saw  the  horizon  red  with  fires. 

20 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Then  suddenly  Mamma  appeared.  I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes. 
To  think  that  she  should  cross  the  ocean  just  to  get  to  me!  While 
all  the  other  Americans  were  stampeding  for  home,  she  was  fighting 
her  way  to  me.  Oh,  it  was  good  to  see  her  and  hold  her  to  my  heart. 
It  was  sweet  and  brave  ot  you  to  let  her  come,  and  to  stay  there  all 
by  yourself,  but  I  wish  you  hadn't  let  her  come. 

She  wanted  to  start  back  right  away,  but  the  horses  we  arranged 
for  were  carried  off  by  a  raiding  party  and  we  waited  for  others. 
Then  came  the  Germans,  like  an  everlasting  gray  river.  We  didn't 
dare  budge.  We  peeked  at  them  from  the  windows.  They  went  by 
and  by  forever.  At  noon  those  that  were  near  halted  and  had  their 
dinner  from  big  cookstoves  on  wheels.  Then  they  moved  on. 

The  second  day  some  of  them  halted  for  a  long  stop.  There  were 
battles  at  a  distance,  and  some  firing  near  us.  The  officers  came  to 
the  convent  looking  for  spies,  they  said,  and  for  civilians  with  arms. 
They  told  the  Sister  Superior  how  they  had  shot  innocent  men  be 
cause  that  is  their  way  of  discipline  by  terror:  the  innocent  must 
suffer  for  the  guilty.  For  what  guilty  ones  did  Mamma  suffer,  I  ask 
God,  and  get  no  answer. 

One  regiment — I  won't  tell  you  its  name — settled  down  near  the 
convent.  There  was  terrible  carousing  by  some  of  the  men  and  the 
officers.  They  jeered  at  the  Catholics.  They  treated  the  priests  like 
dogs  and  shouted  horrible  things  at  the  sisters.  They  began  to  reel 
up  to  the  gate  demanding  food.  They  insisted  on  going  through  to 
search  for  spies.  When  the  Sister  Superior  said  there  were  none, 
they  called  her  names. 

One  of  the  novices  tried  to  run  away  after  dark.  We  saw  her  from 
the  window.  A  few  men  caught  her,  and  others  came  up  laughing 
and  tried  to  take  her  away.  They  were  told,  "She  is  ours.  Go  get 
one  of  your  own."  The  others  howled  with  joy  and  came  running  to 
the  gate.  It  was  dark.  There  were  screams  and  laughs. 

I  was  so  scared.  Mamma  tried  to  hide  me  somewhere.  But  they 
found  us  in  a  little  cell.  They  fought  each  other,  and  then  one  of 
them  laughed:  "The  mother  is  not  so  bad."  They  drew  lots.  I  can't 
write.  I  hope  you  don't  understand.  I  wanted  to  kill  myself,  but 
my  religion  made  me  afraid  to  murder  myself  and  die  as  I  am. 

They  went  away,  and  I  saw  Mamma  and  tried  to  hide,  and  she  tried 
to  hide  from  me.  And  we  cannot  yet  look  in  each  other's  eyes, 
though  we  cling  together  now  after  they  have  been  here.  For  they 
have  no  mercy. 

That  wicked  regiment  marched  away,  and  another  halted.  These 
officers  were  different.  They  beat  the  men  who  insulted  us.  The 
Sister  Superior  told  what  had  been  done,  and  one  of  the  officers  wept, 
and  promised  protection.  But  he  marched  away.  And  others  came 
— more  brutal  even  than  the  First  Thuringians.  They  were  bitter 
against  the  Belgians,  and  when  I  said  that  Mamma  and  I  were 
Americans,  they  only  laughed.  They  came  here  as  if  for  their  meals. 

What  the  future  will  bring  I  don't  know.  Mamma  and  I  are  to  be 
mothers,  and  we  don't  know  who  the — so  many — I  can't  write — I 
can't  die.  Don't  tell  Daddy  when  he  comes  back,  if  he  ever  does. 

30 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

him  we  were  killed  in  the  burning  of  this  town,  and  you  had  a 
letter  saying  we  were  dead,  and  lost  it.  Of  course  we  won't  speak  to 
the  American  Ambassador  or  to  any  one.  So  many  have  been  killed 
and  will  be  killed  that  we  shall  not  be  missed. 

Good-by,  blessed  little  sister.  We  shall  never  see  you  again. 
Think  of  us  as  if  we  were  what  we  wish  we  were — dead.  Mamma 
tried  to  tell  me  to  send  you  her  love,  but  she  is  choked  with  weeping. 
Good-by,  my  sister,  oh,  my  sweet  sister.  Don't  try  to  find  us,  for 
we  shall  not  be  here  long,  and  we  want  never  to  be  seen.  God  be 
kind  to  you. 

The  young  man  in  the  quiet  little  room  on  the  serene 
little  street  in  the  sleepy  little  town  sat  and  wondered  that 
the  world  could  bear  such  things.  He  was  dazed  and 
stunned.  He  sat  idle,  and  mused. 

He  was  beyond  horror.  He  pondered  merely  that  the  girl 
who  slept  so  well  in  the  other  room  had  started  from  some 
where  to  go  to  her  mother  and  sister,  and  somehow  had 
fallen  down  in  this  street,  had  fallen  under  her  cross. 

Who  was  she,  and  whence  ?  He  knew  her  whither  now. 
She  must  be  wakened  for  her  holy  mission — she  must  be 
sped  upon  her  quest.  She  must  save  that  mother  and 
that  sister  from  those — Huns !  He  started.  He  had  said 
the  word  himself — the  word  that  he  had  fought  another  man 
for  saying.  But  what  other  word  was  there? 

What  could  the  world  do  with  such  a  power?  What 
could  he  do  alone  against  it  for  this  lonely  girl?  He 
could  not  help  going  into  the  room  to  look  at  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

INDIAN  summer  ruled  for  its  little  smiling-while,  and 
warmed  the  early  night  of  fall  with  a  pleasant  dream 
of  October  remembering  April.  The  long  belated  spring 
wind  was  as  impudently  inappropriate  as  youth  astray 
in  a  graveyard.  It  crept  through  the  lifted  window  and 
teased  the  light  ringlets  of  hair  about  the  ice-white  brow 
of  the  weird  girl  who  had  drifted  into  Noll's  life  as  curiously 
as  the  spring  wind  that  blew  through  the  October  trees. 

They  had  told  Noll  that  she  only  slept,  but  she  gave  no 
proof  of  life.  He  thought  of  the  old  tradition  that  hair 
does  not  die  with  the  body.  He  wondered  if  it  were  true. 
He  was  at  the  age  when  he  was  finding  out  that  traditions 
are  not  often  true.  But  the  hair  of  the  girl  before  him 
was  so  uncannily  merry  and  the  girl  so  mournfully  still. 

The  frightful  letter  that  he  had  filched  from  her  money- 
belt  seemed  to  explain  death  but  nothing  more,  and  young 
Winsor  kept  asking  that  silent  figure  silent  questions: 
Who  are  you?  Where  are  you  from?  What  brought  you 
here?  What  robbed  you  of  your  life  at  my  door,  of  all 
the  doors  in  the  world? 

She  did  not  answer.  There  was  no  motion  visible  to 
his  keenest  scrutiny  except  that  light  and  frivolous  flaunt 
of  curls  at  her  brow,  a  mockery  of  gaiety  about  a  face  where 
frozen  anguish  gave  youth  and  symmetry  a  dreadful 
beauty.  She  seemed  herself  engaged  in  deep  revery, 
locked  motionless  in  complete  devotion  to  one  thought. 

If  he  could  only  waken  her!  He  bent  and*spoke  in  deep, 
low  tones,  lest  his  mother  hear  him  in  the  other  room. 

"Who  are  you?  Tell  me!  Tell  me  who  you  are.  Let 
me  help  you!" 

But  she  gave  no  sign.  Once  by  inadvertence  his  lips 
touched  the  delicate  conch  of  her  ear,  and  they  were 

32 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

chilled  as  if  they  touched  frost,  burned  and  chilled  as  if 
they  touched  frosted  iron. 

Noll  was  afraid  of  the  mute  witch,  afraid  for  her,  afraid 
with  her.  He  was  young  too,  and  without  love.  He  longed 
to  be  able  to  help  some  one.  She  seemed  to  need  him.  But 
he  could  not  get  word  to  her  that  he  was  there. 

He  sank  into  a  coma  of  helpless  thought.  He  read  and 
reread  the  letter  till  he  had  to  put  it  from  his  sight  in  his 
pocket.  He  put  in  another  pocket  the  money-belt  his 
mother  had  found  on  the  girl's  body.  He  fell  so  still  in 
his  meditation  that  he  grew  almost  as  lifeless  as  the  girl 
was. 

He  was  so  lost  to  the  room,  the  town,  the  world,  that 
when  the  nurse  returned  and  from  habit  tiptoed  into  the 
room  and  whispered,  "I'm  back;  I  was  detained,"  he  was 
as  startled  as  if  he  had  fallen  out  of  a  dream. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  knocking  his  chair  backward  with 
a  clatter  that  made  his  heart  race.  He  was  afraid  that  he 
might  have  startled  the  slumberer.  He  forgot  that  his  one 
ambition  was  to  break  into  her  sleep.  He  looked  apologies 
toward  the  girl,  but  there  was  no  stir  about  her  except  the 
little  ringlets  at  her  temples. 

The  nurse,  Miss  Stowell,  whose  business  it  also  was  to 
get  the  patient  awake,  kept  whispering  too,  and  asked, 
"She  hasn't  moved?" 

Noll  shook  his  head  and  would  have  mentioned  the  letter 
he  had  found  but  that  the  nurse,  yawning  and  eager  to  be 
asleep,  dismissed  him  with  a  nursish  authority. 

"You  needn't  wait  up  any  longer." 

She  bustled  about,  dressing  the  couch,  patting  up  a  pil 
low  and  murmuring: 

"I'll  just  make  myself  comfortable  and — and  read." 

She  had  no  book,  but  she  said  she  would  read! 

Noll,  disgusted,  went  to  his  room.  He  thought  he  ought 
to  speak  to  Miss  Stowell  about  the  letter,  but  as  he  turned, 
he  heard  the  key  click  in  the  lock.  He  sniffed  at  the  dubi 
ous  compliment  she  paid  herself  and  him  in  the  precaution. 

He  sank  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  unfolded  the 
letter,  but  was  too  tired  to  read  it  again.  It  had  worn  him 
out  with  its  terrific  story.  He  hated  to  think  that  the  pretty 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

young  girl  in  the  other  room  had  seen  it  and  had  understood 
such  things.  He  wondered  what  other  terrible  knowledges 
were  stored  up  in  that  whist  soul  of  hers.  His  brain  ex 
hausted  its  strength  with  the  energy  of  its  wonder. 

He  blazed  with  an  ambition  to  go  to  the  rescue  of 
the  sister  smothered  in  an  avalanche  of  disaster,  though 
he  would  have  had  to  cross  land  and  sea  and  dash  back 
ward  through  time. 

The  maddening  thing  about  the  situation  was  that  the 
letter  contained  no  mention  of  places  or  people  except  the 
name  of  the  Thuringian  regiment,  and  that  had  slipped  in 
through  an  evident  oversight.  He  had  no  idea  where  to  go 
to  rescue  whom.  He  simply  must  get  a  few  names.  It 
annoyed  and  baffled  him  not  to  know  what  to  call  the 
sleeping  girl.  To  think  of  her  as  "the  girl"  or  as  "she" 
was  becoming  unendurable.  He  would  have  to  make  up 
some  title  for  her.  He  wondered  what  the  name  of  the 
Sleeping  Beauty  was.  He  wondered  if  he  might  wake  this 
poor  little  Snow  White  with  a  kiss. 

Perhaps  Doctor  Mitford  would  be  able  to  resuscitate  her 
in  the  morning  at  least  long  enough  to  ask  her  who  and 
why  and  whence.  But  if  not,  if  she  should  never  open  her 
eyes  and  her  lips,  whom  could  he  notify  ?  Where  could  he 
send  her  exquisite  clay  but  to  an  anonymous  grave? 

The  next  morning  Noll  went  to  his  mother's  room. 
She  had  an  unbidden  guest  to  worry  over,  and  the  knowl 
edge  of  her  sister's  woes  in  Germany  belittled  her  own 
distresses.  She  reminded  Noll  of  his  promise  to  start 
money  on  its  way  to  her  hungry  sister  Konstanze.  Noll 
reassured  her,  but  his  feelings  were  bitter  against  all 
Germans  this  morning.  He  wanted  to  tell  his  mother 
that  it  was  his  aunt's  own  fault  if  she  starved.  Why  did  she 
select  such  a  country  to  be  born  in?  Why  had  she  brought 
up  her  sons  to  be  parts  of  the  German  machine  where  every 
man  became  a  mere  soulless  cog  and  rolled  on  when  the 
engineer  pulled  a  lever  and  gave  the  word  Vonvdrts? 

Already  an  individual  experience  was  turning  him  against 
a  whole  race  as  readily  as  he  had  been  turned  for  it  by 
another  individual  experience.  In  other  countries  old  ad 
mirations  were  suddenly  turned  to  contempt;  old  friends 

34 


;solde  could  not  bear  to  look,  but    turning    aside,  played 
with  all  her  might. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

were  being  regarded  as  Judases  because  their  nations  had 
ranged  themselves  on  the  opposite  side.  People  were  hating 
even  the  beloved  dead,  the  artists,  the  poets,  the  saints  of 
the  hostile  tribes,  and  loving  their  ancient  hates  because  of 
their  alliances. 

Noll  remembered  a  legend  that  the  Kaiser,  having  cut 
his  finger  once,  had  let  it  flow  a  moment,  saying,  "Now 
I've  got  rid  of  my  English  blood."  Noll  was  tempted  to 
free  himself  of  his  German  heritage  by  the  same  ingenuous 
device. 

But  he  excused  his  mother  from  blame.  After  all, 
he  told  himself,  her  father  had  been  good  enough  and  wise 
enough  to  abandon  such  a  country,  and  his  mother  had 
been  good  and  wise  enough  to  marry  an  American.  He 
helped  her  down  the  stairs  to  a  chair  by  the  window  as  if 
he  forgave  her  something. 

As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  house,  Doctor  Mitford 
arrived.  Noll  found  it  hard  not  to  speak  of  the  letter,  but 
he  held  his  peace.  It  was  his  mother  who  mentioned  the 
odd  fact  of  the  nurse's  complaining  that  Isolde's  violin  had 
disturbed  the  sleeper. 

"Disturbed  her  how?     When?"  Doctor  Mitford  gasped. 

' '  Yesterday  afternoon/ '  said  Mrs. Winsor.  "  I'm  so  sorry. ' ' 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"Isolde  stopped  playing,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Winsor. 

The  doctor  roared:  "Of  course!  Damn  it — excuse  my 
French.  But  why  didn't  somebody  tell  me  of  this?" 

"It  didn't  seem  important.     We  expected  you  to  call." 

"Important!  That  nurse  is  a  fool.  Where's  Isolde? 
Get  her  as  soon  as  you  can!" 

Isolde  could  not  come  till  afternoon.  Noll  found  her 
strangely  altered  overnight.  In  her  wistful  ashen  meekness 
he  saw  a  Hunnish  motherhood,  the  sort  of  future  Hausfrau 
who  would  take  her  place  meekly  as  a  stolid  breeder  and 
trainer  of  Hunlets  and  Hunlettes  into  a  state  of  idolatry 
for  the  Emperor  and  his  God-given  anointed  powers. 
She  would  breed  more  subjects  for  an  Emperor  who  said 
that  his  crown  came  not  from  peoples  or  parliaments,  but 
from  God  direct,  an  Emperor  who  was  sublimely  ludicrous 
enough  to  treat  the  great  wise  manhood  of  Germany  as 

35 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

priests  to  his  glory  and  consign  all  German  womanhood 
to  the  four  K's,  the  service  of  Kirche,  Kleider,  Kinder, 
and  Kuche.  Isolde's  little  Hunlets  would  grow  up  and 
fall  into  line,  march  past  the  Kaiser  at  the  goose-step  an-J 
salute  him  with  their  toes,  give  him  their  lives  as  his  due 
and  take  from  him  with  gratitude  what  crumbs  of  privilege 
he  swept  from  his  banquet-table. 

Doctor  Mitford  explained  to  Isolde  what  he  had  called 
her  for.  He  did  not  know  what  Noll  knew,  and  Noll  took 
an  almost  malignant  delight  in  his  monopoly  both  of  the 
information  and  of  bewilderment.  He  was  like  a  scientist 
who  is  puzzled  about  things  that  other  people  do  not  even 
know  that  they  do  not  know.  Noll  was  conceited  about 
his  higher  ignorance. 

Isolde  took  her  violin  from  the  case,  asked  Noll  to 
"give  her  the  A"  at  the  piano,  brushed  the  quaint  fifths 
with  her  thumb  and  struck  a  Venus  of  Milo  attitude  plus  a 
pair  of  excellent  arms  while  she  steadied  the  violin  against 
her  thigh  and  tightened  or  loosened  the  pins,  brushed  the 
strings  again,  tightened  the  pins  again  and  so  on  till  she  had 
the  instrument  in  accord. 

Then  she  took  up  the  bow,  drew  a  sweet  phrase  or  two 
from  the  singing  strings  and  said,  "  I  am  ready." 

She  followed  the  doctor  up  the  stairs,  and  Noll  followed 
her.  She  was  excited  with  a  new  kind  of  stage-fright  which 
did  not  diminish  when  she  entered  the  room  and  saw 
before  her  her  most  unusual  audience  of  one.  The  mad 
king  of  Bavaria  when  he  befriended  Wagner  had  been  wont 
to  have  operas  performed  for  him  alone  in  the  empty 
opera-house  where  he  hid  somewhere  behind  the  curtains 
of  a  box:  Isolde's  mission  was  to  find  her  solitary  auditor 
still  more  shy,  still  more  hidden.  Noll  had  once  been 
very  fond  of  Isolde,  and  it  did  not  help  her  to  see  that 
she  was  now  hardly  more  than  a  musical  instrument  for 
the  sweet  awakening  of  another  love. 

"What  shall  I  play?"  Isolde  whispered. 

"You  don't  have  to  whisper,"  the  doctor  said  with  a 
twang  that  jarred.  "What  did  you  play  yesterday?" 

"  The '  Serenade '  of  Drdla,  I  think,"  said  Isolde.  "  Wasn't 
that  it,  Noll?" 

36 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  nodded,  and  she  began,  faltered,  and  paused  to 
say,  "  It  doesn't  sound  very  well  without  the  piano." 

Mitford  motioned  her  to  go  on,  but  it  needed  all  the 
resolution  she  had.  She  could  not  bear  to  look,  but  turning 
aside,  played  with  all  her  might. 

At  another  time  Noll  would  have  seen  how  fair  she  was, 
and  modeled  with  as  clever  a  scroll-saw  as  had  fashioned 
the  violin  she  held  under  chin  and  cheek. 

She  played  with  shut  eyes,  her  body  bending  and  sway 
ing  as  her  left  hand  tapped  the  strings  with  uncanny  wis 
dom  and  her  right  arm  with  the  bow  for  a  long  eleventh 
finger  kept  up  its  seesaw  always  in  the  same  plane.  It  was 
uncanny  that  such  manipulation  of  such  a  machine  should 
educe  from  a  box  tones  beyond  the  magic  of  the  nightingale 
that  sings  sometimes  of  nights  in  Avon  near  Shakespeare's 
tomb. 

While  the  beautiful  girl  played  to  the  beautiful  girl,  no 
one  seemed  to  hear  Isolde  or  heed  her,  the  sleeping  girl 
least  of  all.  It  was  she  that  the  two  men  and  the  nurse 
watched,  all  eyes. 

When  the  last  note  ended  with  no  success  visible  the 
doctor  cast  a  reproachful  glance  nurseward,  and  Miss 
Stowell  protested: 

"I'd  have  sworn  she  moved  yesterday." 

"How?" 

"Her  eyelids  seemed  to — well,  throb,  and  her  mouth 
quivered." 

"It  was  probably  your  imagination,"  Mitford  grumbled. 
"But  try  something  else,  Isolde." 

"What  shall  I  play,  Doctor?" 

"How  should  I  know?  What  do  I  know  about  fiddle- 
music?" 

"What  shall  I  play,  Noll?"  Isolde  pleaded,  and  then 
remembering  a  tune  he  had  loved  once  when  he  thought 
he  loved  her,  she  began  the  "Liebestod." 

Noll  flushed.  It  seemed  hardly  the  time  to  be  raking  up 
old  follies.  She  had  played  it  for  her  cousin  when  he 
visited  America. 

"No,  play  the— the  'Traumerei.'" 

She  played  it,  and  also  that  cavatina  of  Raff's,  a  familiar 

37 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

bit  of  Mendelssohn's  concerto,  a  part  of  "The  Kreutzer 
Sonata,"  Bach's  "Chaconne,"  and  various  other  garments 
from  the  well-worn  wardrobe  of  all  fiddters.  She  played, 
of  course,  the  "Humoreske"  of  Dv6fak  and  also  Maude 
Powell's  arrangement  of  his  poignant  lyric  "Als  die  alte 
Mutter." 

But  the  soul  on  whom  this  serenade  was  wasted  would 
not  come  to  the  balcony.  Mitford  grew  dogged  and  insisted : 

"Try  something  more  cheerful." 

She  played  Fritz  Kreisler's  "Caprice  Viennoise,"  a 
reminiscence  of  the  time  when  Vienna  was  the  home  of  all 
cheer,  not  the  fountainhead  of  blood. 

The  composer  was  lying  in  an  Austrian  hospital  even 
then  after  being  wounded  in  battle  and  trampled  by  Rus 
sian  horses  whose  hoofs  threatened  the  future  of  that 
priceless  arm.  Later  he  would  recover  and  tour  America, 
devoting  himself  and  his  art  to  the  conduct  of  a  fund 
for  foreign  musicians  interned  in  Austria,  so  that  music 
should  have  some  other  life  in  the  war  besides  "The  Hymn 
of  Hate"  and  the  clangor  of  march  tunes. 

Isolde  played  the  "Caprice"  deliciously.  It  was  a  rich 
mingling  of  tinkling  bell-tones  and  sirupy  harmonies ;  so  gay 
and  so  tender  it  was,  that  it  inspired  what  Dante  called  "  the 
saddest  of  sorrows,  the  remembrance  of  happier  things." 

The  doctor  grew  tired  of  watching  for  an  effect  that 
was  not  achieving.  He  turned  away  in  disappointment. 
But  Noll  gripped  his  arm  and  whispered,  "Look!"  He 
turned  again  to  the  girl  and  saw  that  among  the  lashes  of 
one  eye  there  was  a  spot  of  wet  light.  A  tear  grew  and 
globed  and  slowly,  tarryingly,  slipped  down  her  cheek  into 
her  hair,  where  it  glistened  a  moment  in  jewel  brilliance, 
then  vanished. 

The  eloquence  of  it  was  beyond  words  or  music.  It 
quenched  with  its  own  pathos  the  joy  it  created. 

"She  weeps!  That  proves  she  lives!"  said  the  doctor, 
not  meaning  to  stoop  to  an  epigram  or  rise  to  a  sentence. 

"Play  it  again — the  same  thing!" 

Isolde's  violin  repeated  the  "Caprice,"  but  now  it  car 
ried  new  and  solemn  connotation,  as  a  light  song  does  when 
soldiers  have  sung  it  on  their  way  to  the  wars. 

38 


cr 
c 
p 


^  § 

13*3 

P     O 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

On  the  repetition,  however,  the  music  evoked  no  glint 
of  a  tear,  no  token  of  any  response  till  the  end  of  it,  and 
then  there  was  barely  manifest  a  slow,  a  very,  very  slow, 
prolonged,  mournful  taking-in  of  breath  and  a  deep,  com 
plete,  deliberate  exhalation — that  strange  business  with  the 
air  that  we  call  a  sigh. 

"Play  it  again!     Over  and  over!"  the  doctor  stormed. 

Isolde  fought  silence  with  melody  under  the  whip  of  the 
doctor's  excitement  till  her  muscles  ached  and  her  spirit 
was  fagged  out.  She  played  and  played,  weakening  like  a 
groggy  boxer.  Her  skill  and  her  toil  had  no  further  in 
fluence  on  that  rigid  taciturnity.  Noll  knew  why,  or 
thought  he  did.  There  were  sorrows  in  that  heart  which 
the  feigned  and  artistic  woe  of  music  could  not  reach. 

' '  I  can '  t — play — any — more . ' ' 

The  watchers  over  the  slumberer  heard  a  faint  cry  and 
looked  round  to  see  Isolde  collapsing  to  the  floor  in  a 
swoon.  By  instinct  her  arms  sheltered  her  violin  instead 
of  herself,  and  she  fell  heavily.  Noll  ran  to  kneel  and 
pick  her  up,  but  the  doctor  thrust  him  aside  and  left  her  on 
the  floor.  He  placed  a  cushion  under  her  feet,  and  the 
blood  ran  back  into  the  machinery  of  her  brain.  Then 
she  began  to  cry  hysterically. 

Doctor  Mitford  was  regretful  of  Isolde's  defection,  but 
enough  had  been  accomplished  to  prove  that  the  girl's 
soul  was  not  altogether  inaccessible. 

Isolde  accepted  her  dismissal  with  characteristic  meek 
ness  and  left  the  room.  Noll  went  to  the  door  with  her. 
He  waited  while  she  wrapped  the  fiddle  in  its  silk  swaddle 
and  set  it  in  its  cradle. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  that  the  only  name  mentioned 
in  the  letter  was  that  of  the  First  Thuringian  regiment. 
He  remembered  the  words,  "Others  came  who  were  more 
brutal  than  the  First  Thuringians."  He  said  to  Isolde; 

"Isolde,  you  remember  my  cousin  Nazi  Duhr?" 

Her  blush  answered  before  she  stammered : 

"Yes — yes,  of  course.     Why?" 

"Do  you  remember  what  regiment  he  was  in?" 

"It  was —  Let  me  see —  Wasn't  it —  Yes,  Nazi  was 
in  one  of  the  Thuringian  regiments.  Why?" 

39 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Oh,  nothing;  I  just  wondered." 

Isolde  mused:    "Do  you  suppose  he  is  fighting?     O) 
course  he  is.     Isn't  it  awful ?     He  might  have  been  killed." 
'  If  he  hasn't  been,  he  ought  to  be,"  Noll  growled. 
'Noll!"  Isolde  gasped.     "Why  do  you  say  that?" 
'Oh,  nothing." 

'Are  you  still  jealous  of  him?" 

'  Maybe  I  am.     I  guess  I  am."     But  he  was  not  thinking 
of  Isolde. 

Isolde  smiled  sadly.     "  Auf  wieder — " 
"Good-by!"  Noll  snapped. 

He  stood  on  the  porch  as  she  wended  her  way  along  the 
street,  but  his  eyes  were  turned  inward  with  thought. 

He  was  thinking  about  the  victim  of  her  music,  seeing 
again  her  tear  and  her  long,  deep  sigh.  The  idea  flashed 
into  his  brain  that  the  violin  had  not  so  much  wakened  her 
from  inanition  as  it  had  invaded  the  intense  activity  of 
her  thought,  had  disturbed  her  at  her  meditation  as  a  catchy 
tune  had  often  interfered  with  some  precious  mood  of  his 
own  or  annoyed  him  when  he  was  casting  up  accounts. 

That  was  what  the  girl  up-stairs  must  be  doing.  She 
had  reason  enough  for  profound  consideration  of  a  life 
where  such  infamy  was  possible. 

Noll  had  read  somewhere  the  old  dogma  of  certain  theo 
logians  who  were  content  to  imagine  a  God  who  was  con 
tent  to  spend  His  eternities  in  the  contemplation  of  His 
own  glory.  If  so  much  time  were  needed  for  infinite  wisdom 
to  debate  its  splendor,  surely  a  few  days  of  utter  repose 
were  not  too  much  for  a  girl  to  spend  in  a  study  of  the 
problems  raised  by  such  a  cataclysm  in  her  little  sphere. 


CHAPTER  VII 

r"PHE  wonder  was  not  so  much  that  she  should  be  over- 
1  whelmed  by  such  a  disaster  as  that  she  should 
survive  it  at  all.  It  seemed  to  Noll  strange  that  the  whole 
world  was  not  stunned  by  what  had  happened  and  was 
happening  in  Belgium.  Yet  "Business  as  usual"  was  still 
the  watchword  around  the  globe,  while  atrocity  was  piled. 
on  atrocity  in  a  little  realm  innocent  of  war  and  ignorant 
of  its  approach. 

Suddenly  Noll  seemed  to  see  Belgium  itself,  and  all 
the  peace  and  security  of  mankind  as  the  shattered  vic 
tims  of  just  such  outrage  as  had  crushed  the  girl  asleep. 
The  conscience  of  America  must  be  asleep,  too,  to  have 
tolerated  it  and  accepted  it  as  merely  sensational  news. 
Noll  felt  his  gorge  rise  at  the  nausea  of  things.  But  he 
felt  also  that  he  was  on  the  way  to  an  understanding  of 
Doctor  Mitford's  patient. 

The  doctor  came  down  the  stairs  now  with  that  particu 
lar  way  doctors  have  of  coming  down-stairs  from  sick-rooms, 
smuggling  a  load  of  bafflement  in  a  sack  of  confidence. 
He  went  out  to  his  little  old-fashioned  car,  cranked  it  up, 
was  about  to  get  in,  remembered  something  he  had  for 
gotten  to  tell  the  nurse,  and  hurried  back  into  the  house 
and  up  the  stairs.  The  engine  of  his  car  went  on  chuckling 
like  a  cozy  sewing-machine. 

Noll  was  struck  by  a  notion  that  the  girl's  body  was  like 
that.  The  driver  was  away,  "up-stairs"  somewhere;  but 
the  engine,  without  budging  from  its  place,  ran  on  and  on 
and  would  run  on  as  long  as  the  gasolene  did  not  fail. 

It  was  an  odious  sort  of  fact.  But  mysteries  must  be 
reduced  to  mechanism  if  they  are  to  be  solved.  The 
main  problem  now  was  to  recall  the  driver  of  that  car  to 
the  wheel  before  the  engine  wore  itself  out. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

When  the  doctor  came  down  again  Noll  asked  him, 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  now?" 

"Just  what  I  thought." 

"Just  what  was  that?" 

The  doctor  had  thought  and  unthought  several  theories. 

"It's  a  plain  case  of  hysteria,"  he  said,  "a  form  of 
somnambulism,  a  fit  of  sleep." 

"How  long  will  it  last?" 

"God  knows!" 

"How  long  can  she  live  without  food?" 

"She  is  being  fed  artificially  now.  Six  times  a  day  with 
a  mixture  of  beef-extract,  white  of  eggs,  glycerine  and 
whisky.  That  will  keep  her  going  for  a  while." 

"How  do  you  explain  her — trance?" 

"  Only  fools  can  explain  things.  Wise  men  merely  study 
them,  describe  them,  and  watch  how  they  work." 

People  nowadays  like  to  know  what  their  doctors  are 
driving  at;  so  Noll  ventured: 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  a  lot  about  hysteria." 

"I  haven't  the  time  to,  nor  the  ability,"  Mitford  con 
fessed.  "I  don't  know  much  about  it.  Nobody  does. 
But  I've  got  a  few  books  with  the  latest  guesses  on  the 
subject.  Want  to  read  "em?" 

"Indeed  I  do!" 

"  Come  over  to  the  office  and  help  yourself." 

Noll  got  into  the  car,  and  at  a  touch  of  the  hand  the 
engine  gripped  the  axles  and  the  machine  left  the  curbstone 
with  a  leap.  Noll  felt  that  somewhere  there  must  be  a 
lever  that  would  set  the  sparks  to  flying  also  in  that  sta 
tionary  soul  up-stairs. 

Doctor  Mitford  took  Noll  to  his  office,  and  finding  other 
calls  waiting,  left  him  alone  with  the  most  terrifying  litera 
ture  ever  written,  the  psycho-analytical  works  describing 
the  aberrations  of  the  human  mind  and  its  mutual  enemy 
the  body. 

These  were  not  the  occult  balderdash  of  the  all-credulous 
who  endow  the  subconscious  mind  with  divine  powers 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  conscious,  nor  the  inane  chortlings 
of  infantile  glee  over  senile  transcendentalisms.  These 
were  the  ransackings  of  the  lower  brain,  the  dust-bin  and 

42 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

garbage-barrel  of  memory,  where,  as  in  other  garbage-cans, 
disease  lurks  and  the  products  of.  waste  and  carelessness 
ferment. 

It  was  hard  for  a  young  small-towner  to  meet  on  a  plane 
of  high  intelligence  these  investigations  in  mental  sewage 
or  to  regard  them  as  the  purified  and  purifying  sciences 
that  they  are.  The  language  appalled  him  alternately  by 
its  technical  jargon  and  by  its  bluntness.  Its  CEdi pus- 
complex,  its  libido-principles,  symbolisms  and  dream- 
explanations  offended  him  to  wrath. 

Hours  afterward,  when  Mitford  came  in  to  find  Noll 
buried  under  a  landslide  of  new  ideas,  Noll  broke  out : 

"  If  this  is  science,  give  me  a  nice,  sweet  fertilizer-factory. 
The  scheme  seems  to  be  to  sprinkle  the  Greek  dictionary 
over  a  heap  of  smut.  This  fellow  Freud  builds  everything 
on  the  memories  people  don't  remember.  He  nags  at 
some  poor  half-witted  wreck  till  he  drags  some  ghastly 
thing  out  of  the  past,  and  then  he's  as  proud  as  Little  Jack 
Horner.  He  pulls  out  the  plum  and  says:  'What  a  great 
boy  am  I!  Now  you're  cured.'  He  bases  it  all  on  erotic 
repression.  He  ought  to  be  repressed  himself." 

The  young  doctor  smiled  with  an  ancient  tolerance. 
"Wouldn't  it  be  a  pity,  though,  if  the  prudishness  of  nar 
row-minded  people  like  you  should  prevent  science  from 
investigating  these  ailments?  They're  much  more  com 
mon  than  you  dream  of,  Noll. 

"Even  as  a  child  you  knew  of  fearful  things  that  any 
novelist  would  be  lynched  for  mentioning.  They're  mighty 
important.  Some  children  can't  forget  their  black  pages, 
and  the  battle  between  primeval  instincts  and  the  moral 
lessons  they  learn  is  a  frightful  battle  to  some  poor  souls. 
People  set  themselves  a  fleshless  standard,  and  suffer  hide 
ously  when  they  fall  back  to  nature.  They  try  not  to 
think.  They  sprain  their  brains  and  rupture  their  pride. 
The  memories  fester  like  abscesses,  find  outlet  in  unsus 
pected  places,  fill  the  system  with  poisons. 

"It  does  them  a  marvelous  good  just  to  tell  somebody 
all  about  it.  It's  exactly  like  lancing  an  abscess.  The 
old  secrets  come  out  like  pus.  The  psycho-analysts  call 
this  cleansing  process  the  catharsis.  Some  souls  need  a 

43 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

brisk  cathartic  as  well  as  some  bodies  do.  That's  all  there 
is  to  psycho-analysis.  It's  nothing  to  be  so  horrified  about. 

"You  are  not  morbidly  moral;  you  don't  worry  over 
your  childish  mistakes.  But  numberless  quiet,  respectable 
people  are  seething  with  struggles  inside  their  souls.  Se 
crets  are  better  out  than  in,  especially  if  they're  foul  se 
crets.  And  so  this  patient  of  mine — of  ours — " 

Noll  broke  in  hastily:  "None  of  that,  now!  Don't  try 
to  pin  any  of  those  ghastly  Freudian  tags  on  her.  These 
psycho-fellows  seem  to  have  minds  for  nothing  but  the 
dirty  and  the  eccentric." 

Mitford  was  patient  with  him:  "You're  making  what 
Stanley  Hall  calls  'the  complicated  protest  of  normality.' 
But  whatever  that  girl's  secret  is,  secrets  are  poison.  Some 
people  tell  them  to  the  priests  and  do  their  penance,  but 
the  doctors  ought  to  be  told  about  thoughts  as  well  as 
pains,  for  thoughts  are  symptoms,  causes  as  well  as  by 
products  of  disease." 

Noll  knew  that  the  girl  had  a  secret,  and  a  venomous 
secret,  but  it  did  not  concern  her  own  conduct.  It  was 
from  without.  He  protested: 

"You're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree  this  time.  These 
Germans  don't  understand  us  Americans.  But  maybe  they 
know  their  own  people.  Let  'em  keep  their  ugly  science 
and  turn  it  on  themselves.  Come  to  think  of  it,  this 
Freud  fellow  may  have  the  explanation  of  the  Prussian 
atrocities  in  Belgium.  That  may  be  an  explosion  of  erotic 
repression.  The  race  has  been  studying  too  hard  and  being 
decent  too  long,  I  guess.  They  had  to  go  out  on  a  terrible 
drunken  spree.  They'll  have  a  frightful  head  when  they 
wake  up,  and  my  God,  what  remorse!" 

"That  sounds  funny,  coming  from  such  a  pro-German 
as  you." 

Noll  realized  that  his  eloquence  had  carried  him  too 
far.  His  sudden  and  ferocious  change  of  heart  had  come 
from  reading  the  letter  he  had  found.  He  had  felt  that 
he  had  no  right  to  tell  even  the  doctor  of  it.  It  was  the 
girl's  own  wish  that  it  should  not  be  seen.  She  had  secreted 
it  herself.  It  was  shame  enough  for  Noll  to  have  read  it ; 
to  tattle  would  be  contemptible:  yet  he  could  not  explain 

44 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

his  abrupt  about-face  without  disclosing  that  document. 
He  mumbled: 

"I  was  just  talking  to  hear  my  own  voice.  Anyway, 
we're  getting  nowhere  with  this  poor  girl's  case  You 
told  me  these  books  might  help  me  to  understand  her. 
There's  nothing  in  them  that  has  anything  to  do  with  her 
trouble." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Mitford.  "She  has 
suffered  some  big  crisis  that  has  overwhelmed  her.  She 
wants  to  forget  the  whole  world.  She  is  trying  to  be  dead 
without  dying.  She  is  suffering  perhaps  from  what 
Pfister  calls  a  'traumatic  repression.'  Sleep  is  her  dis 
guise,  her  form  of  self-protection.  The  only  way  I  can 
imagine  to  get  her  out  of  this  frightful  despondency  would 
be  to  extract  her  secret  from  her." 

Noll  was  uneasy.     "How  would  you  do  that?" 

"  By  a  mild  hypnosis,  perhaps." 

"You  don't  believe  in  that  old  fake,  do  you?" 

"Not  in  the  vaudeville  circus-tricks  nor  in  the  Sunday- 
supplement  miracle  stunts.  The  honest  hypnotists  admit 
that  they  can't  compel  people  to  do  anything  they  don't 
want  to.  But  sometimes  they  can  persuade  some  poor 
scared  souls  to  have  self-confidence,  just  as  generals  hypno 
tize  armies.  I  don't  know  much  about  it,  but  I'm  going  to 
work  along  that  line — unless  you  want  to  send  her  to  some 
big  nerve  specialist  in  Chicago  or  St.  Louis." 

"We  oughtn't  to  neglect  anything.  But — how  much 
would  he  charge?" 

"Oh,  five  hundred  dollars  or  so.  It's  a  good  deal  to 
pay  for  a  doctor,  but  it's  cheap  for  a  soul." 

The  thought  of  taking  the  girl  out  of  his  life  brought 
a  gasp  of  protest  from  Noll.  "You  do  the  best  you  can, 
and  if  you  fail  we'll  get  the  best  doctor  in  the  world." 

"You  might  take  home  this  book  of  Janet's  on  hysteria," 
said  Mitford.  "It's  French,  but  perhaps  your  German 
prejudices  will  excuse  that.  It  was  written  before  the 
French  made  their  outrageous  attack  on  Germany  through 
Belgium." 

Noll  winced  at  this.  He  was  finding  that  repression  is 
actually  a  strain  upon  the  soul. 

45 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  took  Janet's  book  home  with  him.  And  that  night 
after  dinner  he  went  to  his  room  to  read  it.  He  was  first 
impressed  by  that  amazing  clarity  of  the  French  mind, 
which  seems  to  find  it  as  hard  to  write  a  cloudy  sentence 
as  the  German  to  write  a  clear  and  graceful  one.  He  was 
fascinated,  too,  by  Janet's  theory  that  the  true  hysteria 
is  a  form  of  somnambulism  and  that  the  noisy  outburst 
is  rare.  He  studied  and  studied  till  he  had  literally  hypno 
tized  himself  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  stupor. 

He  slept  late  into  the  next  forenoon,  and  the  Sabbath 
air  was  shaken  with  church-bells  when  he  woke.  His 
mother  felt  that  since  she  was  able  to  be  about  the  house 
she  was  able  to  resume  her  church-going.  She  was  all 
Sundayed  up  when  Noll  finished  his  breakfast,  and  she 
asked  him  to  go  to  church  with  her.  He  begged  off  with  a 
smile. 

"Thank  you,  but  I've  had  sleep  enough  for  one  morning." 
Later  he  told  Miss  Stowell  that  if  she  wanted  to  go  to 
church  he  wouldn't  mind  watching  the  patient. 

Miss  Stowell  was  one  of  the  black  sheep  of  her  white 
profession.  She  always  wanted  to  go  anywhere  that  was 
out. 

Noll  made  sure  that  the  cook  was  absorbed  in  the  big 
noon  dinner  of  Sunday  before  he  went  to  the  terrifying  door. 
He  paused;  then,  after  guilty  hesitance,  he  knocked  with 
formality — no  answer;  he  stepped  in  with  timidity. 

There  she  lay,  a  waxen  effigy.  The  nurse  had  bathed  her 
and  brushed  her  hair  and  spread  it  out  on  the  pillow.  She 
had  just  begun  to  braid  it  when  she  decided  to  take  Noll's 
advice.  Noll  closed  the  door  after  him  and  tiptoed  forward 
with  the  mingled  feelings  of  a  ghoul  in  a  graveyard  and  an 
Orpheus  going  down  into  Hades  to  fetch  forth  Eurydice. 

He  drew  a  chair  close  and  with  utter  trepidation  spoke 
to  her.  The  sound  of  his  voice  alarmed  him.  He  half 
expected  her  to  spring  up  and  shriek.  She  made  no  more 
sign  than  a  statue  addressed. 

Recalling  the  doctor's  purpose  and  hoping  to  anticipate 
him,  he  murmured,  slowly,  tenderly: 

"You  will  get  well.  You  will  get  well.  You  will  get 
well." 

46 


THE   UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

It  was  his  breath  now  that  stirred  the  hair  at  her  temples. 
That  was  all  the  influence  it  had. 

He  varied  his  theme:  "You  must  wake  up  soon.  You 
must  wake  up  soon." 

He  said  this  a  hundred  times  with  a  fanatic  obstinacy, 
and  at  last  he  would  have  sworn  that  she  heard  him.  As 
one  sometimes  stares  and  listens  with  such  eagerness  that 
the  senses  seem  to  thrust  forth  tentacles  instead  of  waiting 
passively  for  power  to  come  from  without,  so  his  thought 
seemed  to  crackle  like  a  wireless  telegraph,  shattering  space 
with  long,  rhythmic  feelers,  trying  to  attune  some  other 
instrument  to  its  repeated  SOS. 

He  hammered  at  her  ear  with  murmurs  that  grew  louder 
and  louder,  "You  must  wake  up  soon!"  He  did  not  know 
that  people  going  by  on  the  street  paused  and  wondered 
at  the  noise. 

If  he  could  only  call  her  by  name!  He  tried  various 
names  at  random:  "Mary!  Rose!  Susanne!  Catherine! 
Kitty!  Kate!  Alice!  Edith!  Ethel!  Helen!  Elizabeth! 
Dora!  Clara!  Lucy!" — all  that  he  could  think  of.  He  had 
no  answer.  If  there  had  been  only  a  name  in  that  letter! 
There  was  just  one.  He  dreaded  to  try  it,  but  he  was 
desperate.  He  leaned  close  and  called: 

"The  First  Thuringians!  The  First  Thuringians!  The 
First  Thuringians!  The  Thuringians!" 

When  he  had  kept  this  up  until  even  those  words  were 
gibberish  his  heart  stopped  suddenly,  for  her  eyelids 
shivered.  He  thought  he  saw  her  make  one  quick  catch 
for  breath.  Her  hand  moved  fitfully  as  if  to  brush  away 
a  gnat. 

Then  it  fell  back  lifeless;  she  resumed  that  baffling 
rigidity  so  grimly  that  he  hardly  knew  whether  he  had 
really  seen  her  lashes  quiver  or  had  only  breathed  on 
them,  whether  her  hand  had  moved  or  he  had  only  imagined 
the  gesture. 

He  put  all  the  power  of  his  heart  into  the  reiterance: 
"  The  Thuringians !  The  Thuringians !" 

His  throat  grew  husky  with  fatigue,  but  he  said  to  him 
self,  "I'll  say  it  ten  times  more  and  stop!"  And  after 
ward  he  said  it  again  and  again,  renewing  his  pledge  and 

47 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

the  breach  of  it  alternately.  At  last,  abruptly,  a  convulsive 
shock  ran  in  icy  ripples  down  through  the  coverlet  above 
her.  Her  hand  twitched  and  went  up.  There  was  a  little 
whisper : 

"Mamma!" 

And  nothing  more!  The  lips  relaxed;  the  hand  fell. 
Noll  was  so  frantic  that  he  gripped  her  by  the  shoulders 
lest  she  sink  back  and  drown  in  oblivion  again.  He  seized 
her  and  shook  her  with  frenzy  and  dared  to  shriek  to  her 
again : 

"The  Thuringians!" 

And  now  she  trembled  indeed.  The  breath  throbbed  ir« 
her  bosom.  Her  mouth  opened  and  panted  like  the  beak 
of  a  thirsty  bird.  She  sat  up  quickly  as  if  she  were  called 
or  alarmed.  A  bare  foot  came  forth,  pink  and  shapely, 
its  instep  high-arched.  It  sought  the  carpet  and  he  saw 
once  more  that  bruised  knee  before  he  turned  his  eyes  away. 
When  he  could  not  help  looking  again,  the  girl  was  standing 
by  the  bed.  She  was  wringing  her  hands  and  gazing 
about  as  if  she  were  trying  to  imagine  where  she  was  and 
how  she  had  come  there. 

He  spoke  the  word  again.  Now  she  caught  his  arms 
and  clung  to  them  with  the  palsy  of  a  child  waking  in  a 
nightmare  and  clutching  at  help.  But  her  eyes  stayed 
shut  and  her  words  were  clamor  that  he  could  not  under 
stand.  Once  more  he  smote  her  with  "The  Thuringians!," 

She  was  so  startled  that  a  smotheringly  sweet,  amazingly 
abundant  billow  of  hair  tumbled  down  about  her,  covering 
her  face.  She  was  not  cold  and  remote  as  she  had  been, 
but  warm  and  silken  and  timid.  She  tried  to  run,  dragging 
him  with  her,  but  she  was  weak  from  being  so  long  abed; 
she  toppled,  and  he  had  to  hold  her  as  she  made  a  feeble 
burlesque  of  flight.  And  now  she  grew  articulate  with 
panic,  babbling: 

"Mamma!  Mamma!  Where  can  we  hide?  Quick — 
where  can  we  hide?  I  can't  bear  it  again.  Kill  me. 
Please  kill  me,  Mamma!  Then  you  can  kill  yourself.  Or 
I'll  kill  you  first.  No,  we  mustn't  do  that,  must  we? 
If  we  did  that  we  should  never  see  poor  little  Dimny  in 
heaven — nor  papa.  For  their  sake  we  must  bear  what  God 

48 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

sends,  and  He'll  take  mercy  on  us  by  and  by.  Yes,  we  must 
live." 

Noll  realized  that  she  thought  herself  to  be  her  sister. 
He  was  stupefied  at  the  new  problem.  She  went  on 
muttering  with  a  ghostly  frenzy: 

"Papa,  don't  let  them  take  us!  Why  did  you  go  so  far 
— so  far — and  leave  us  so  helpless?  What  will  he  think 
when  he  gets  back  from  the  North  and  finds  that  you  are 
not  there,  and  that  the  war  has  broken  out  and  we  can't 
be  found.  Poor  daddy!  Poor  little  sister!  Thank  Heav 
en  she's  safe  out  in  Los  Angeles.  Oh  dear!  Oh  dear! 
Hush,  Mamma!  We  mustn't  cry  so  loud  or  they'll  find  us! 
Shh!  Shh!  Hide  behind  me.  Let  them  take  me  and 
they  may  not  look  for  you.  Shh!" 

She  tried  to  put  Noll  back  of  her  and  to  shield  him.  He 
was  too  weak  with  pity  to  resist  her.  He  was  too  weak 
to  keep  from  weeping.  She  heard  his  sobs  and  thought 
them  her  mother's  and  tried  to  offer  comfort  and  strength 
— bent  her  head  and  petted  Noll's  hand.  Then  she  froze 
again. 

Noll  could  feel  that  her  eyes  were  opening,  that  she  was 
staring  at  his  hand.  She  put  back  her  hair  and,  turning 
her  head,  followed  his  arm  to  his  shoulder.  She  twisted 
about  in  his  embrace  and  stared  full  at  him.  He  had  never 
seen  such  eyes.  They  grew  tremendous  as  they  found  sight 
and  recognized  him  for  a  man.  She  stood  aghast  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  flung  back  and  tore  his  hands  away, 
and  when  he  reached  for  her  again  she  dropped  to  the 
floor  and  hunched  along  the  carpet  with  grotesque  awk 
wardness. 

She  whispered:  "Don't  touch  me  or  I'll  tear  your  eyes 
out.  No,  we  are  not  Englishwomen.  We  are  Americans. 
Your  Kaiser  honored  my  father  once — gave  him  a  decora 
tion.  Your  Kaiser  will  put  you  to  death  if  you  harm  the 
daughter  of  Stephen  Parcot.  Don't  you  know  the  dif 
ference  between  England  and  America?  We've  never 
harmed  you.  We've  given  you  welcome  and  riches,  and 
we  love  your  music.  I  can  play  beautiful  German  music 
on  my  violin.  Music  will  make  you  merciful.  If  you  are 
a  true  German  you  can't  be  the  fiend  you  look.  You'll 

49 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

be  sorry.  You'll  kill  yourself  or  go  mad  some  day  when 
you  remember." 

Noll  implored  her  with  his  hands  and  protested:  "I  am 
an  American!  An  American!" 

She  recoiled  in  fright,  waving  palms  of  repulsion  at  him 
and  laughing  maniacally. 

Noll  dipped  to  his  knees  to  quiet  her,  pleading  with 
her  incoherently  to  believe  him  and  trust  him. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  me.  Let  me  help  you.  I  am  your 
friend." 

"Where  is  your  revolver?  Kill  me  with  that,  or  give 
me  your  helmet  and  let  me  stab  myself  with  the  spike." 

Noll  prayed  her  to  believe  that  she  was  in  America  and 
not  in  Belgium — in  blessed,  warless  America,  not  in  the  hell 
of  Belgium.  But  she  fought  him  off,  her  face  haggard 
with  loathing  in  the  witch's  cowl  of  her  hair  about  her 
fierce  eyes,  her  lips  uttering  wild  screams  that  made  no 
sound. 

He  was  in  despair,  but  he  could  not  leave  her  on  the  floor. 
He  caught  her  hands  to  lift  her,  and  she  tried  to  cry  out, 
but  all  that  came  from  her  white  lips  was  a  little  shrill 
whisper : 

"Mamma!     Papa!     Dimny!    O  God,  don't  let  him!" 

Then  her  eyelids  drooped  over  her  mad  stare,  and  she 
fell  asleep  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

'""PHE  sudden  relaxation  of  her  taut  muscles  and  her 
1  collapse  upon  his  shoulder  nearly  felled  him.  It  was 
hard  to  lift  her,  and  he  made  a  gawky  business  of  it  before 
he  could  carry  her  to  the  bed  and  stretch  her  on  it.  He 
drew  the  coverlet  over  her  and  brushed  her  hair  from  her 
face  and  back  from  her  snowy  brow,  and  spread  it  on  the 
pillow  as  he  had  found  it  when  he  first  entered  the  room. 
Then  he  dropped  into  his  chair,  gulping  for  breath,  sick 
with  emotion  and  fatigue.  He  wanted  to  faint.  He  un 
derstood  why  she  took  refuge  in  the  bliss  of  inanition. 

He  heard  grouped  voices  on  the  walk  outside.  People 
were  drifting  by  in  clusters  from  church.  His  mother 
would  be  home  soon.  He  heard  the  brisk  step  of  the 
nurse  on  the  front  walk.  He  heard  the  door-bell  ring  and 
he  hurried  from  the  room. 

He  heard  the  nurse  coming  in.  She  noticed  nothing, 
apparently,  for  he  could  hear  her  moving  about,  and  she  was 
crooning  a  hymn. 

He  bathed  his  face  in  cold  water  and  slapped  the  back 
of  his  hot  head  with  it.  He  was  completely  distraught. 
He  had  accomplished  the  miracle  of  waking  the  dead,  but 
she  had  come  back  to  earth  in  another  incarnation.  She 
was  tortured  by  her  perfervid  imagination;  her  sister's 
experience  had  taken  such  possession  of  her  that  she  had 
become  her  sister. 

Noll  remembered  something  he  had  read  in  Janet's  book. 
He  took  it  up  and  hunted  through  it  as  through  a  dictionary, 
looking  for  definitions  of  strange,  unfathomable  novelties. 
He  found  much  talk  of  duplicate  personalities,  alternating 
personalities,  souls  leading  various  lives  in  succession,  for 
getting  one  in  another. 

But  there  was  the  stamp  of  insanity  in  all  of  them.  Noll 

Si 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

would  not  have  this  girl  insane.  If  her  experience  had 
driven  her  out  of  herself  and  she  had  too  literally  put  her 
self  in  her  sister's  place,  she  must  be  rescued  back  into  her 
own  beautiful  identity  before  she  established  herself  in  the 
other. 

But  how  was  he  to  accomplish  this?  He  had  interfered 
in  her  destiny,  and  his  guilt  would  be  discovered.  Once, 
when  he  was  a  boy  left  alone  in  the  house,  he  had  inves 
tigated  the  big  clock,  and  it  had  suddenly  come  to  pieces; 
the  mainspring  had  leaped  at  him,  whirring  viciously  like  a 
rattlesnake.  He  had  been  unable  to  restore  it  and  had 
been  found  among  the  ruins.  He  was  appalled  now  to  see 
what  he  had  done  to  that  girl's  soul  by  his  rash  words. 

He  began  to  think  back  over  what  he  had  heard  Dimny 
say.  At  last  he  had  a  name  to  call  her  by.  He  loved  the 
name.  It  had  a  honey  taste  on  his  tongue.  Out  of  the 
hubbub  of  her  delirium  certain  other  names  began  to 
emerge  to  his  memory.  He  wrote  them  down  lest  they 
escape  him  again. 

He  knew  something  about  her!  that  her  father  was 
Stephen  Parcot.  Noll  vaguely  remembered  reading  of  the 
eminent  explorer.  He  had  gone  to  the  North  just  before 
the  war,  leaving  the  world  at  ease.  Evidently  he  had 
left  one  daughter  in  a  convent  in  Belgium  somewhere  and 
closed  the  Arctic  door  behind  him  like  the  door  of  a  peace 
ful  study.  He  had  another  daughter  named  Dimny.  That 
was  the  name  of  this  girl.  And  Noll  knew  where  she  came 
Irom.  Her  father  had  left  her  in  Los  Angeles — with  her 
mother,  no  doubt.  When  the  war  broke  over  Belgium  the 
letter  told  how  the  mother  had  made  haste  to  cross  the 
ocean  to  bring  home  that  daughter,  and  both  of  the  luckless 
wretches  had  been  caught  in  that  first  all-devastating 
tidal  wave  of  the  German  sea. 

It  was  plain  now  to  Noll  that  the  girl  in  the  other  room 
had  received  the  letter  from  Belgium.  He  imagined  what 
a  fearful  blow  it  must  have  dealt  her. 

But  how  had  she  come  to  Carthage?  It  was  thousands 
of  miles  from  her  home,  and  no  railroad  led  from  here  to 
there  direct.  By  what  magic  had  she  been  transported? 

He  could  imagine  her  gathering  her  effects  together, 

52 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

sobbing  but  resolute,  providing  herself  with  money  and 
setting  out  on  a  quest  to  find  her  people  and  give  them 
what  help  she  could.  That  was  what  he  would  want  her 
to  do.  He  loved  her  for  the  impulse. 

She  must  have  sewed  the  letter  into  her  money-belt  so 
that  no  one  should  learn  what  had  happened.  Something 
had  diverted  her  from  her  path  to  Belgium.  Something 
had  brought  her  down  helpless,  all  but  lifeless,  without 
friend  or  name  or  baggage,  in  a  strange  village.  But  she 
should  not  lack  a  champion.  His  aimless  life  had  sud 
denly  received  a  direction,  a  mission.  He  heard  a  call. 
The  days  of  knighthood  were  returned,  together  with  all 
the  cruelties  that  gave  chivalry  its  being. 

He  took  a  high  resolve  that  he  would  recover  this  girl's 
soul  and  restore  her  to  her  sister  and  her  mother  and  help 
them  keep  from  the  morbid  public  their  pitiful  secret.  It 
would  be  a  thing  worth  doing,  a  beautiful,  holy,  compas 
sionate  task  in  hideous,  savage,  heartless  times. 


CHAPTER  IX 

next  morning  Noll  wrote  on  the  letterhead  of  the 
1  bank  a  formal  request  to  its  correspondent  bank 
in  Los  Angeles  for  information  concerning  Miss  Dimny 
Parcot  and  her  family,  and  their  commercial  standing. 
This  last  was  merely  an  excuse  for  the  letter.  He  asked 
that  the  answer  be  addressed  to  him  personally  as  the 
assistant  cashier. 

On  the  few  occasions  when  he  had  access  to  Dimny 
he  kept  up  that  one-sided  conversation.  He  poured  into 
her  ear  the  refrain:  "You  are  Dimny  Parcot!  You  are 
not  your  sister,  but  yourself!  You  are  not  in  Belgium,  but 
in  your  own  country.  You  are  Dimny  Parcot!" 

He  was  playing  Pygmalion  to  a  Galatea  who  was  not 
quite  marble  nor  yet  quite  flesh.  She  hovered  between 
life  and  death,  breathing  statuary.  Noll's  heart  failed 
him  again  and  again.  But  when  he  was  away  from  her  she 
haunted  him,  and  he  used  every  device  to  get  into  her 
room  and  plead  his  cause,  recommending  himself  by  his 
incessantly  repeated  name:  "I  am  Noll  Winsor — Noll 
Winsor.  I  love  you,  Dimny;  I  want  to  be  your  friend. 
Don't  die  without  letting  me  live  for  you,  or  let  me  die 
fol  you  in  your  place.  Dimny,  Dimny  Parcot,  it  is  Noll 
Winsor  talking  to  you." 

His  infatuation  would  have  been  evident  to  a  far  less 
eager  student  of  his  moods  than  his  mother  was.  She  kept 
silent  for  a  long  time  and  hoped  that  his  idle  interest  would 
pass.  It  had  been  burden  enough  that  the  girl  had  been 
inflicted  on  the  household.  The  quiet  obscurity  of  the 
home  had  vanished  into  a  neighborhood  notoriety.  The 
telephone  was  always  bringing  in  queries.  People  called 
for  no  purpose  but  to  ask  impertinent  questions.  The  girl 
was  an  expense  of  time  and  toil  and  money.  If  in  addition 

54 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

she  should  carry  off  the  only  son  of  the  house,  what  a 
wretched  repayment  that  would  be  for  the  Christian  charity 
squandered  on  her ! 

Mrs.  Winsor  saw  in  her  a  kind  of  Lorelei.     She  did  not 
sit  on  a  high  cliff  combing  her  hair  with  a  golden  comb  and 
singing  the  young  voyager  to  shipwreck,  but  she  lay  still 
and  drew  him  with  invisible  nets.     Mrs.  Winsor  resolved 
to  get  her  out  of  the  house  as  soon  as  she  could,  and  in  the 
meanwhile  to  get  her  out  of  Noll's  heart  before  she  fastened 
herself  there  with  too  many  deep  roots.     She  made  a  definite 
attack,  at  last,  one  evening. 
'  Noll,  honey." 
'Yes,  Mother?" 
'I've  been  thinking." 
'Yes,  Mother?" 

'That  girl  up-stairs — the — the  poor  thing — she  isn't 
getting  the  best  of  care  here.  She  ought  to  be  taken  to — 
to  the  hospital  in  St.  Louis." 

"Why,  Mother!" 

"The  newspapers  and  the  police  ought  to  be  notified, 
and  advertisements  printed  so  as  to  find  her  people  and  let 
them  take  her  away." 

Noll  did  not  dare  to  tell  her  that  the  girl's  people  could 
not  be  found. 

"I  think  we'd  better  keep  her  a  little  while  longer,"  he 
said. 

His  mother  spoke  out  sharply. 

"You  act  as  if  you  were  in  love  with  her." 

"Why,  Mother!     You're  joking." 

"I'm  dreadfully  worried  about  you — and  her.  There's 
no  telling  who  she  is  or  what  brought  her  here." 

"I  only  know  that  she's  a  girl  in  great  distress." 

Mrs.  Winsor  hesitated  before  she  divulged  her  own 
secret. 

"But  how  do  we  know  what  she — what  sort  of  girl  she 
is?" 

"Mother !"  Noll  cried.  "  It  isn't  like  you  to  be  suspicious 
of  a  poor  child  that  you  know  nothing  at  all  about." 

"  I  know  something  about  her  that  I've  never  told  you." 

Noll's  gaze  went  toward  her  with  alarm.     Perhaps  the 

55 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

girl  had  had  an  awakening  one  day  while  he  was  at  the 
bank.  "Tell  me,"  he  said. 

As  she  told  him  what  she  had  seen  from  the  porch  the  iron 
of  jealousy  was  twisting  in  Noll's  soul,  leaving  its  rust  there. 

Mrs.  Winsor  went  on:  "Ward  Pennywell  found  the  girl 
— after  the  woman  Ward  was  with  had  screamed.  I  never 
heard  who  she  was,  did  you?" 

Noll  growled:  "I  suppose  it  was  that  Mrs.  Lynne  he's 
been  running  after.  He's  making  a  fool  of  himself  over 
her." 

Noll  dismissed  the  intriguers  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
He  was  more  interested  in  his  mother's  disclosure. 

"You  say  you  saw  Dimny — this  girl — walk  into  the 
shadow  of  the  tree  with  a  man?" 

"With  a  man — yes.  So  now  don't  you  agree  with  me 
that  she'd  better  go  to  the  hospital?" 

"No." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Find  the  man." 

Noll  suffered  as  only  the  young  can  suffer,  the  young 
who  can  still  believe  in  perfection  and  hope  for  the  first 
blossoms  of  love.  He  loved  a  girl  and  hardly  knew  her 
name.  He  hated  a  man  and  did  not  know  so  much  as  his 
name. 

Noll  tried  to  tell  himself  that  there  was  some  innocent 
explanation.  He  must  be  careful  not  to  condemn  anybody 
in  advance.  But  his  heart  was  sick  within  him. 

His  mother  brooded  over  him  with  the  heartache  of  a 
mother  who  sees  her  boy  entangled  in  the  first  problems 
of  mistaken  infatuation.  Abruptly  she  spoke. 

"Noll,  honey." 

"Yes,  Mother?" 

"Didn't  you  call  that  girl  by  some  name?  What  name 
did  you  call  her  by?" 

Noll  answered,  absently:  "Dimny.  Her  name  is 
Dimny  Parcot." 

"  But  how  did  you  find  it  out?" 

He  was  startled  to  realize  that  his  secret  had  jumped 
from  him.  He  could  not  escape  his  mother's  eyes.  After 
a  moment  he  reverted  to  a  habit  that  boys  get  over  all  too 

56 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

soon.  In  his  early  years  he  had  used  to  tell  his  mother  nearly 
everything.  Now  that  she  demanded  what  he  knew,  he 
felt  that  she  had  a  right  to  his  confidence  and  he  a  need 
of  her  counsel.  He  threw  himself  upon  her  love  as  once 
upon  her  lap.  He  told  her  of  the  finding  of  the  letter  sewed 
up  in  the  lining  of  the  money-belt.  He  even  took  from  his 
pocketbook  the  letter  itself  and  handed  it  to  her. 

She  was  so  shocked  with  pride  at  having  her  prodigal 
home  once  more  in  his  trouble  that  she  could  not  withhold 
proud  laughter — the  laughter  of  an  ancient  Sara  finding 
herself  a  mother  again. 

She  took  the  letter  with  the  all-beautiful  smile  of  old  age 
breaking  through  the  wall  between  itself  and  youth.  She 
began  to  read;  her  smile  was  erased  from  her  face  like  a 
mask  snatched  off,  revealing  tragedy  beneath.  When  she 
understood,  she  was  afraid  to  look  at  her  son  across  this 
fearful  truth.  With  her  eyes  lowered,  she  murmured: 

"  The  poor  child !     The  poor,  poor  child  and  her  mother !" 

She  shuddered  and  did  not  speak  for  a  long  while,  and 
then: 

"But  you  called  her  Dimny.  There  is  no  such  name 
here  in  the  letter." 

Then  Noll  told  her  of  his  stance  and  how  he  had  used 
the  word  "  Thuringians  "  as  the  Open  Sesame!  to  the  locked 
gates  of  that  mind  in  siege,  and  of  the  untoward  result. 

A  long  silence  followed,  till  at  length  he  said: 

"Mother,  honey,  my  cousin,  Nazi  Duhr,  belonged  to  one 
of  those  Thuringian  regiments." 

She  cried  out  against  this  implication. 

Noll  explained:  "  I  don't  say  he  was  with  this  regiment. 
I  don't  say  that.  But  I  do  say — " 

"  He  was  such  a  nice  boy !" 

"Armies  are  made  up  of  nice  boys,  Mother.  It's  war 
that  makes  them  go  out  and  kill  people  and  outrage  free 
countries." 

"But  he  was  such  a  nice  boy!" 

"The  Germans  don't  deny  that  they  are  in  Belgium,  do 
they?  They  don't  deny  that  they  have  burned  cities  and 
shot  priests  and  old  hostages  and  women  in  Belgium,  do 
they?" 

57 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

That  mysterious  instinct  that  leads  people  to  defend  their 
races  against  other  races  led  this  old  lady  in  the  mid- West 
to  rally  to  the  standard  of  invaders  she  had  never  seen, 
doing  deeds  that  revolted  her. 

"But  think  what  the  Russians  did  in  East  Prussia  before 
the  great  Von  Hindenburg  drove  them  out." 

"What  the  Germans  accuse  the  Russians  of  is  just  the 
same  thing  as  this,"  said  Noll.  "It  proves  to  me  that 
they've  both  been  guilty." 

Mrs.  Winsor  fought  on. 

"The  Russians  are  barbarians.  They  began  the  war, 
and  treacherous  England  joined  them  to  finish  her  work 
against  poor  Germany." 

"That's  what  I've  been  telling  people,"  Noll  sighed, 
"but  I'm  beginning  to  feel  that  the  attack  on  little  Belgium 
puts  us  Germans  out  of  court.  Anyway,  we  are  not  re 
sponsible  for  Russia's  soul  or  England's.  But  we  are,  a 
little,  for  our  own,  aren't  we  ?  The  worse  the  Russians  were, 
the  better  the  Germans  ought  to  have  been.  Or  else,  how 
can  the  Germans  say  they  fought  to  save  Europe  from  the 
Slav  peril?  How  could  the  Slavs  have  done  worse  than 
the  Teutons?  Nobody  ever  did  worse,  not  even  the 
Mexican  bandits.  And  I  always  come  back  to  this — that 
the  French  and  Russians  and  Germans  were  at  war,  but 
the  Belgians  weren't.  The  English  didn't  declare  war  till 
after  Belgium  was  attacked.  There  never  can  be  any 
excuse  for  the  attack  on  Belgium.  That's  all  there  is  to  it, 
Mother.  It's  simply  one  of  those  horrible  mistakes  that 
are  worse  than  crime." 

Mrs.  Winsor  did  not  intend  to  alienate  her  recovered  lad 
by  any  dispute. 

"Well,  what  can  we  do  about  it,  honey?"  she  asked, 
meekly. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I  have  a  feeling  that  the  people  of 
German  blood  in  America  ought  to  do  what  they  can  to 
prevent  the  Germans  at  home  from  doing  any  more  wicked 
things.  Our  Germans  ought  to  do  all  they  can  to  undo 
the  evil  the  Germans  abroad  are  doing,  so  that,  in  after- 
times,  people  can  say  of  the  Germans  that  came  to  America 
for  freedom  and  enjoyed  it,  that  they  did  their  best,  their 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

moglichste,  to  teach  freedom  to  the  old  folks  at  home.  It's 
the  fault  of  the  Kaiser  and  the  Czar  that  Europe  is  on  fire. 
But  we  don't  believe  in  kaisers  and  czars  here.  They're 
a  joke  to  us — and  a  mighty  poor  one." 

Mrs.  Winsor  was  reminded  of  the  tradition  that  family 
traits  skip  a  generation.  She  had  once  heard  "Die  Frei- 
Jieit!"  shouted  with  the  ringing  cry  of  passion.  She  had 
known  of  Prussia  as  the  oppressor  of  the  other  German 
states.  And  now  the  democratic  fervor  of  her  young  son, 
for  whom  Mrs.  Winsor  felt  infinitely  more  devotion  than 
for  all  the  nations  in  the  world,  kindled  the  mother's  heart 
with  some  of  his  fire.  The  important  thing  to  her  was 
that  her  boy  was  exhibiting  his  blazing  heart  to  her.  He 
was  no  longer  the  shy  stranger  who  had  for  years  treated 
her  as  a  sort  of  beloved  landlady,  with  no  part  in  his  real 
life. 

She  could  not  escape  the  fact  that  the  girl  up-stairs 
whom  she  had  accused  of  decoying  her  son  from  her  had 
wrought  the  miracle  of  his  return.  Her  mother-heart 
melted  with  pity  for  the  worse-than-orphaned  girl.  Her 
mother-soul  understood  what  that  other  mother  must  feel. 
How  could  she  reject  Noll's  arguments,  quench  that 
flaming  chivalry  of  his,  or  fail  to  quicken  with  it?  She 
was  the  little  mother  now  of  a  big  man,  and  she  was  proud 
of  her  submissiveness  to  his  mood. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  honey?"  she  asked. 
"  Tell  me,  and  I'll  do  all  I  can." 

"I  want  you  to  help  me  get  that  girl  well,  and  get  her 
people  back  to  her — as — as  far  as  we  can.  I  want  you 
for  your  own  sake  to  show  that  a  German  heart  can  be 
merciful.  I  want  you  to  redeem  as  far  as  you  can  the  cruel 
harm  that  German  wickedness  has  done.  Don't  you  see 
what  I  mean?  I  fought  a  man  awhile  ago  for  calling  the 
Germans  Huns,  and  now  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  apologize  to 
him — and  I  will.  All  good  Germans  ought  to  apologize 
for  the  fiends.  Great  Lord!  we  ought  to  apologize  to  the 
Huns  for  giving  them  a  bad  name." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  she  repeated,  indicating  by  a  little 
spreading  of  the  hands  her  feebleness  and  her  age.  "But 
what  can  I  do?" 

59 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Help  me  to  get  poor  Dimny  well.  That's  the  first  job. 
I've  been  sneaking  into  that  room  unbeknownst  to  you — " 

"Not  always,  honey.  I've  worried  myself  to  death 
every  time  I  heard  her  door  open  and  close.  I  was  afraid 
to  speak,  but  I've  worried!" 

"Well,  you  needn't  have.  You  see  why  now.  I  couldn't 
tell  the  doctor  or  the  nurse  about  this  letter,  don't  you  see? 
I  was  afraid  to  tell  you,  too,  till  you  shook  it  out  of  me." 

"Oh,  honey,  if  you  would  only  know  that  there  is  noth 
ing  on  earth  you  could  tell  your  mother  that  would  hurt 
her  half  as  much  as  your  not  telling  her.  You  don't  know 
how  it  has  broken  my  heart  to  realize  that  you  thought 
of  me  as  a  stranger.  It  is  many,  many  years  since  you  and 
I  have  been  like  this.  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad!" 

She  proved  it  by  a  gorgeous  crying-spell,  on  the  shoulder 
of  her  kneeling  son,  who  wrapped  his  arms  about  her  and 
kissed  her  white  hair. 

Noll  rose  at  last  and  drew  a  chair  close  and  told  her 
all  he  knew  and  of  his  plan  not  to  let  Dimny  know  what  he 
had  known.  If  eventually  she  told  him,  he  would  confess, 
but  only  then. 

"Suppose  she  wakes  up  and  asks  for  her  money-belt," 
his  mother  whispered.  "She'll  see  that  the  letter  has  been 
read." 

"  I've  been  meaning  to  put  it  back,"  he  explained.  "  I've 
kept  the  thread,  but  I'm  such  a  blacksmith  with  the 
needle." 

"Let  me  do  that  much,"  Mrs.  Winsor  pleaded.  "I  can 
put  the  thread  back  in  the  very  needle-holes  so  that  she'll 
never  know." 

Noll  patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  hurried  to  fetch  her 
the  belt  and  her  work-basket.  They  were  mumbling  and 
whispering  in  devoted  conspiracy  throughout  the  task. 

The  new  entente  cordiale  with  his  mother  enabled  Noll  to 
be  with  Dimny  nearly  every  evening.  His  mother  worked 
with  him  now,  and  it  was  she  who  urged  Miss  Stowell  to 
take  frequent  absences. 

But  Noll  was  haunted  by  that  other  man.  He  was 
afraid  that  he  would  lose  him.  He  wondered  how  to  trace 
him.  He  had  not  the  slightest  clue  to  begin  with. 

60 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Eventually  this  letter  came  from  the  bank  in  Los  Angeles : 

Replying  to  your  favor  of  i8th  inst.,  would  say  we  have  been  de 
layed  by  the  fact  that  party  referred  to  was  not  a  customer  of  this 
bank  and  had  to  be  located  at  another.  Information  secured  as 
follows : 

Miss  Dimny  Parcot  is  not  a  resident  of  this  city,  but  came  here 
with  her  mother  and  began  vocal  studies  with  Prof.  Marco  Torelli 
and  piano  with  Prof.  Otto  Keetel. 

She  is  a  daughter  of  Stephen  Parcot,  the  scientist  who  sailed  foi 
the  Arctic  regions  last  summer  on  a  two  or  three  years'  voyage.  Mrs. 
Parcot  left  here  early  in  August  for  the  East.  Miss  Dimny  Parcot 
continued  her  studies  till  recently,  when  she  announced  to  Professors 
Torelli  and  Keetel  that  she  had  been  written  for.  She  paid  her  bills 
and  closed  her  account  at  the  bank,  drawing  out  a  balance  of  about 
five  thousand  dollars. 

This  is  all  the  information  at  hand.  If  more  is  required,  we  should 
be  glad  to  serve  you. 

And  now  Noll  felt  that  he  had  a  little  firm  ground  be 
neath  him  for  foothold.  Dimny  had  been  verified  and 
given  a  habitation. 

He  persisted  in  his  efforts  to  telephone  to  that  long- 
distant  soul,  testing  every  wire,  calling  her  "Dimny! 
Dimny!"  in  the  hope  that  she  would  grow  used  to  him  and 
take  him  into  her  dreams  as  The  Duchess  of  Towers  took 
Peter  Ibbetson  in  that  most  wonderful  romance. 

And  finally  his  incessant  whispers  seemed  to  wear  away 
the  distance.  For  one  day  when  he  entered  the  room 
alone  and  began  his  old  tune  of  "Dimny!  Dimny,  Dim 
ny!"  he  paused,  then  exclaimed,  "Miss  Dimny  Parcot — 
what  a  pretty  name!" 

"I'm glad  you  like  it." 

He  could  not  believe  what  he  had  heard.  Her  eyes  were 
closed  and  she  spoke  drowsily,  as  one  who  talks  in  sleep. 
To  his  astounded  delight  she  went  on,  murmuring  briskly: 

"It's  a  famous  name,  anyway.  I'm  proud  of  it  for  my 
father's  sake.  You've  heard  of  him,  of  course." 

"Of  course,"  said  Noll,  trying  to  be  calm.  "I'm  a  great 
admirer  of  his.  I've  always  loved  the  great  explorers, 
especially  Stephen  Parcot." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  because  I've  a  favor  to  ask  of  you — a 
great  favor." 

61 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Please!" 

He  thought  she  was  talking  to  him,  but  he  found  thai 
she  had  another,  an  invisible  auditor. 

"The  station-master  tells  me  that  you  are  going  to 
Carthage." 

"Yes,"  said  Noll,  wondering  who  the  station-master 
was  and  what  station  he  mastered.  She  talked  on,  but 
her  mind  suffered  great  lapses  of  memory.  There  was  no 
continuity  in  her  mutterings. 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  I  must  catch  the  boat  for  Europe. 
That's  why  I  want  to  get  to  Carthage  this  evening." 

She  laughed  politely,  as  if  he  had  spoken. 

"Yes,  I  know  there's  a  war  over  there;  that's  why  I — 
well,  I've  simply  got  to  make  the  boat.  You  can  help  me 
infinitely." 

She  was  as  light  and  cheerful  as  the  mad  Ophelia,  except 
that  there  was  a  slight  affectation,  an  excess  of  sprightliness 
such  as  one  who  is  embarrassed  assumes  before  a  stranger. 
But  she  must  be  mad  indeed  to  speak  of  coming  to  Carthage 
to  take  ship  to  Europe,  to  Carthage,  almost  equally  remote 
inland  from  either  ocean! 

"The  station-master  tells  me,"  he  heard  her  say,  "that 
you  live  in  Carthage  and  just  happened  to  be  here  in — in 
Macuta:  funny  names  new  towns  have,  haven't  they?" 

Macuta  was  a  small  village  a  few  miles  away  on  the 
Santa  F6  railroad,  which  did  not  touch  Carthage.  But 
Dimny  was  babbling  on: 

"Oh,  you  have?  You  will?  You  are  an  angel  straight 
from  heaven!"  She  broke  down,  weeping  and  laughing  at 
once.  "I'm  sorry  to  be  so  weak  and  foolish,  but  if  you 
knew  how  terribly  I  want  to  catch  that  boat!  My  trunk 
is  all  right.  I  got  it  on  the  train  ahead,  thank  Heaven. 
Of  course  you  understand  that  I  will  pay  you —  Oh,  but 
I  couldn't  think  of  it  unless  you  let  me  pay  you.  .  .  .  You 
embarrass  me.  Well,  if  I  must,  I  must.  I'll  be  grateful 
to  you  as  long  as  I  live.  I  don't  care  how  fast  you  go." 

Now,  apparently,  she  dreamed  herself  aboard  a  little 
motor-car.  Noll  harkened  for  the  name  of  the  man,  but 
she  seemed  to  be  uncertain  of  it.  Suddenly,  after  much 
whispering,  she  spoke  aloud: 

62 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Great  Heavens,  my  suit-case  and  my  hand-bag!  I 
left  them  on  the  sleeping-car!  No,  no,  don't  stop.  Don't 
go  back.  ...  I  can  always  buy  more  clothes;  I  wouldn't 
risk  going  back  for  worlds.  The  hand-bag  had  a  little 
money  in  it — not  much,  though.  I  have  more  with  me." 

She  tightened  her  lips  and  blenched  as  if  he  had  offended 
her  by  a  familiarity.  "No,  it's  in  a  money-belt." 

She  did  not  speak  for  some  time ;  then  the  man  evidently 
apologized,  for  she  said:  "Don't  speak  of  it,  please.  I — 
I'm  sure  I'm  too  much  indebted  to  you  to  mind  a  joke.  .  .  . 
A  girl  traveling  alone  ought  not  to  be  too  sensitive.  You 
see  I've  never  been  alone  so  long  before." 

The  car  evidently  stopped,  for  she  spoke  with  anxiety. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  really  ought  to  light  the  lights. 
It  begins  to  look  like  a  storm,  doesn't  it?  So  peaceful  off 
to  the  west,  and  the  sky  so  red  in  the  east,  as  if  the  sunset 
got  turned  round.  It's  like  America  and  Europe,  isn't  it? 

"No,  thanks,  I'm  not  cold.  That's  excitement  that 
makes  me  shiver.  Oh,  please!  Oh,  I  beg  you!  You 
can't  mean  to  be  unkind  when  you've  been  so  kind.  You 
wouldn't  take  advantage  of  my  helplessness!" 

There  seemed  to  be  a  silent  amorous  struggle.  Noll 
blazed  with  jealous  rage.  It  was  uncanny.  He  hated  a 
ghost  who  was  not  there,  but  tormented  her  in  memory,  a 
persistent  flirt  who  had  annoyed  her  before  Noll  ever  saw 
her.  Noll  loathed  the  dog.  She  was  moaning  now : 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not  a  pretty  girl.  I'm  a  heartbroken 
woman.  I  don't  want  anything  like  that.  No,  never. 
Don't  stop  to  apologize.  .  .  .  Please  drive  as  fast  as  you 
can. 

"Yes,  of  course,  a  woman's  'No!' — but  not  always.  A 
woman  can't  always  mean  yes.  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  nothing 
against  you,  but  my  heart  is  dead.  I  don't  want  love.  I 
hate  love,  that  kind  of  love.  .  .  . 

"Please  watch  where  you  are  driving.  You  nearly 
wrecked  us  that  time.  And  if  you  knew — 

"Now  we  seem  to  be  coming  into  the  town.  It's  Car 
thage,  I  hope.  .  .  .  What's  that — a  revolver?  Oh,  a  tire! 
Oh  no!  It  couldn't  be.  Oh,  hurry,  please!  It's  late. 
We'll  never  make  it.  ...  At  last!  At  last!  Faster! 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Would  you  mind?     My  watch  says  we  have  only  a  few 
minutes.  ...  Is  it  much  farther?" 

She  gave  a  little  cry  and  seemed  to  be  flung  and 
stunned. 

"Don't  mind  me.  I'm  not  hurt.  But  the  car?  The 
wheel  isn't  broken  off.  It  can't  be.  Isn't  there  another 
car?  Not  a  thing  in  sight.  Then  I'll  run.  Don't  hold 
me.  How  far  is  it?  Which  road  do  I  take?  You  can't 
leave  your  car.  You're  terribly  kind.  .  .  .  No,  thank 
you,  I  can  get  along  faster,  I  think,  if  I  don't  take  your 
arm." 

She  fell  into  complete  silence.  Noll  had  lost  her  again. 
He  tried  to  recall  her  before  she  fled  too  far. 

"Miss  Parcot,  Miss  Parcot,"  he  cried,  "you'll  miss  your 
train." 

It  was  a  long  time  later  before  she  spoke  again;  then  a 
gush  of  tears  first  drenched  her  cheeks.  She  groaned: 

"  To  think  that  I  should  have  missed  it !  The  other  train 
will  get  there  first,  and  I'll  not  be  on  it.  Oh,  you  never 
know  when  you  are  making  haste,  do  you?  That  train 
at  three  in  the  morning — will  it  really  make  the  connec 
tion?  Oh,  what  are  hours?  What's  a  little  sleep?  I 
can  always  sleep.  What  does  my  convenience  matter  in  a 
world  like  this? 

"It's  very  good  of  you  to  offer  me  your  home.  It 
would  be  nice  to  sit  there  till  the  train  goes.  I  won't  dis 
turb  your  mother.  She  must  go  to  bed.  I'll  sit  up.  Is 
it  far? 

"Oh,  I'd  better  walk.  They  say  it's  best  for  a  strained 
ankle.  We  can  make  it  before  the  storm  breaks.  It's  go 
ing  to  be  a  big  storm.  How  hushed  everything  is!  The 
town's  asleep  already.  Such  a  pretty  town,  it  seems  to 
be." 

She  spoke  so  softly  that  Noll  kept  close  to  her  to  hear. 

"No,  thanks,  I  don't  need  your  arm.  I'll  rest  here 
just  a  moment,  if  you  don't  mind,  and  lean  against  this 
tree.  Wonderful  old  tree,  isn't  it?"  She  began  anew  to 
put  away  imaginary  hands,  to  move  her  head  aside  as  from 
pursuing  Hps.  Noll's  heart  plunged  as  she  struggled  with 
a  shadowy  wrestler. 

64 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Oh  no.  Please — you  promised!  Don't,  don't  kiss  me! 
Don't!  You're  too  strong.  You  frighten  me.  In  the 
lightning  then  your  face  looked  like  a — a  Thuringian's! 
Mamma!  Sister!  The  Thuringians !  Ah,  I'm  dying!  I'm 
dead!  I'm  glad!  Ah!" 

She  was  drowned  again  in  oblivion,  and  nothing  that  Noll 
could  do  or  say  or  cry  could  recall  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

NOLL  was  bewildered  both  more  and  less  by  this  latest 
utterance  of  that  increasingly  restless  brain.  He  had 
read  in  one  of  the  books  that  a  true  awakening  from  such 
an  attack  would  be  shown  by  a  recurrence  to  the  last  ex 
perience  before  the  curtains  of  oblivion  fell  about  the  soul. 
He  found  in  Janet's  book  the  account  of  a  girl  who  had 
crises  of  sleep  from  terror  caused  by  a  narrow  escape  from  a 
bull;  of  a  man  who,  being  wrongfully  accused,  became  un 
conscious  whenever  he  met  his  accuser. 

Noll  had  no  intention  of  confronting  Dimny  with  the 
tormentor  she  had  described,  but  he  had  an  intense  desire  to 
confront  the  man  with  himself.  He  had  small  material  to 
work  on.  Fortunately  he  had  a  small  town  to  work  in. 

After  fastening  his  suspicions  on  various  men  who  proved 
innocent  of  this  affair,  if  not  of  others,  it  occurred  to  him 
to  visit  the  garages  and  inquire  what  car  had  been  wrecked 
on  the  Macuta-Carthage  road  on  the  date  of  Dimny 's 
arrival. 

At  last,  at  "John  and  Joe's  Practical  Garage,"  he  found 
not  only  the  name  of  the  man,  but  the  car  itself.  It  had 
been  brought  in  by  the  owner's  orders  and  was  still  awaiting 
his  return. 

John  and  Joe  explained  how  Lou  Neebe  had  telephoned  in 
that  he'd  smashed  his  "tin  Lizzie"  out  on  the  Macuty 
road  a  piece  and  would  they  go  git  it  and  glue  it  together, 
and  they  done  so,  but  he  hadn't  showed  up  yit. 

They  spoke  of  it  with  the  derision  a  garager  has  for  a 
cheap  car,  but  Noll's  lip  was  curling  with  scorn  for  the 
cheaper  man  who  owned  it  and  who  had  been  flattered  by 
fate  with  the  misunderstood  privilege  of  such  a  companion. 

But  first  Noll  must  find  him,  and  it  was  several  days  more 
before  Neebe  returned  to  town  from  his  travels.  Then 

66 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

one  evening  on  his  way  home  Noll  saw  the  fellow  rounding 
a  corner  in  the  swaggering  way  that  Carthage  calls  "flip." 
He  was  bigger  than  Noll  in  height,  but  his  courage  was 
only  bluff-deep.  When  Noll  said,  "Neebe,  I've  been  look 
ing  for  you,"  he  tried  to  brush  by  with  a  brusque:  "See 
you  s'mother  time.  Got  no  time  to-day." 

Noll  took  him  by  the  gaudy  necktie  and  held  him  at 
arm's-length. 

"Oh  yes,  you  have,"  said  Noll.  "Now  tell  me  all  about 
it." 

"About  what?" 

"You  know  well  enough.  And  so  do  I.  But  I  want  to 
give  you  a  chance  to  speak  before  I  beat  the  daylight  out  of 
you." 

Neebe  sputtered  a  moment;   then  he  began  to  plead. 

"About  that  girl,  you  mean?" 

Noll  did  not  waste  a  nod,  but  his  look  was  confirmation 
enough.  Neebe  did  not  wait  for  definite  indictment. 

"Why,  I  never  meant  any  harm  to  the  little  lady.  I 
wouldn't  harm  a  flea.  You  oughta  know  me  well  enough 
not  to  suspicion  I  would.  But  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was, 
Noll.  You  see  it  was  like  this,  Noll.  I'm  up  at  Fort 
Madison  sellin'  a  little  bill  of  goods,  and  comin'  'long  home 
in  my  car,  I  remember  a  frien'  o'  mine  in  Macuta  and  I 
roll  round  to  say  howdy,  and  I  see  a  big  freight-train 
spilled  all  over  the  Santy  Fee  tracks.  Well,  whilst  I'm 
looking  it  over,  the  Chicago  express  comes  along  and 
nearly  smashes  into  the  box-cars.  The  passengers  climb 
out  cussin'  the  delay  and  the  place  they've  got  to  spend 
it  at. 

"Well,  it  looks  like  a  long  job  clearin'  the  track,  and  I 
guess  I'll  be  moseyin'  along  when  up  comes  one  of  the  pas 
sengers,  nice  young  lady,  and  says  the  station-agent  says 
she  can  maybe  make  Chicago  in  the  morning  by  cuttin' 
over  to  Carthage  and  pickin'  up  the  Q.,  and  would  I  take 
her.  I  says  of  course  I  would.  Well,  she  offers  me  money, 
but  I  says  I  never  take  money  off  a  lady,  and  she's  entirely 
welcome.  She's  in  an  awful  rush  and  I  don't  hit  nothin' 
but  the  high  spots.  What's  a  little  gasolene  to  oblige  a 
lady?  Why,  I  just  run  that  car  of  mine  to  death  to  please 

67 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

her  and  never  charged  her  a  cent.  I  lose  one  shoe,  and 
finally — splung!  into  a  telegraph  pole,  and  him!  goes  the 
wheel.  We  missed  the  Q.  on  account  of  bustin'  the  wheel, 
and  she's  in  an  awful  stew  about  it. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  see  the  little  lady  sittin'  down 
in  the  deepo  till  three  A.M.,  so  I  says,  'Come  on  up  to  the 
house,  and  ma  will  be  glad  to  see  you.'" 

"Was  your  ma  at  home?"  said  Noll. 

Neebe  turned  white  and  nearly  dropped.  "Well,  I 
naturally  supposed  she  was.  It  turned  out  she  was  in 
Buena  Vista,  but  I'd  forgot  that." 

Noll  was  sick  with  rage.  But  he  controlled  himself. 
"Go  on — get  it  out." 

"Well,  goin'  up  the  street  the  little  lady — I  never  got  her 
name — well,  anyways,  she's  so  nice  and  grateful  and  so 
sad  and  all,  that  I  got  a  little  too  friendly,  I  guess.  She 
stops  by  that  tree  by  your  house  and  wants  to  rest  a 
minute,  and  I  offered  her  my  arm  and — and —  He  caught 
Noll's  steely  eye.  "Well,  you  see,  Noll,  she  was  so  pretty, 
and  I'm  a  very  susceptible  feller,  and — well,  at  that  I 
on'y  tried  to  put  my  arm  around  her. 

"O*  course  she  said  'Stop!'  but  they  all  do,  and — well, 
you  know  what  women  are  like.  So  I  supposed  she  just 
wanted  a  little  coaxin',  and  I  guess  I  did  use  a  little  force. 
She  didn't  scream  or  anything — just  mumbled  something 
I  couldn't  understand.  I'm  kind  of  strong,  you  know,  and 
well,  I  was  just  goin'  to — I  was  goin'  to  give  her  one  littl& 
kiss,  you  know,  when — my  Gawd,  she  just  died  on  me. 
She  just  crumpled  up  and  slid  to  the  ground.  I  thought 
she  must  have  been  attackted  with  heart  disease  and 
went  out  like  folks  do  sometimes.  I'd  ought  to  have  got  a 
doctor,  but  somethin'  put  such  a  scare  in  me,  I  lit  out  for 
home.  Gawd!  what  a  night  I  spent! 

"Next  mornin'  I  inquired  around  and  heard  folks  sayin' 
a  strange  girl  had  been  picked  up  outside  the  Winsors',  and 
nobody  knew  if  she  was  goin'  to  die  or  not.  So  I  knew  she 
was  in  good  hands.  But  I  was  afraid  she'd  tell  on  me,  and, 
besides,  I  had  business  out  of  town  and  I — I  couldn't  wait. 
I  wrote  to  a  certain  party  in  town,  and  they  said  she  was 
still  sick,  so  I  took  a  chance  and  come  on  home.  And 

68 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

that's  all,  so  help  me!  I  don't  know  what  to  say  or  do. 
What  you  want  me  to  say  or  do?" 

"  You  can  keep  this  thing  to  yourself  till  your  dying  day. 
If  you  do,  I  won't  harm  you.  If  you  breathe  a  word  of  it  to 
a  human  being  I'll  make  you  wish  your  father  and  mother 
had  died  before  they  met.  Understand?  Promise?" 

"  Promise  ?  Great  Lord !  I  ain't  likely  to  tell  on  myself, 
am  I?  I  swear  to  Gawd  nobody  will  ever  hear  a  squeak 
from  me." 

"All  right,  then!  Go  on  about  your  business,  if  you 
have  any.  And  if  your  tongue  gets  to  itching,  cut  it  out 
and  save  yourself  trouble." 

"Count  on  me,  Noll.  Don't  worry  about  me,  Noll. 
Much  obliged,  Noll."  He  hurried  off. 

When  Noll  reached  home  he  found  Doctor  Mitford  in  a 
mood  of  great  excitement.  His  patient  had  come  out  of 
her  sleep  and  had  enacted  exactly  the  same  scene  that  she 
had  played  for  Noll. 

Mrs.  Winsor  had  been  present,  and  she  signaled  Noll  that 
she  had  not  betrayed  her  knowledge  of  its  repetition. 
And  Noll  played  the  part  of  surprise,  too,  as  best  he  could. 

Doctor  Mitford  had  to  think  this  over,  and  he  went 
about  his  business,  promising  to  return  that  night  before 
eight  with  a  new  program. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  and  as  soon  as  the  nurse  had 
been  invited  to  take  her  usual  two  hours  of  air,  Noll  went 
with  his  mother  to  Dimny's  room.  She  was  sleeping  truly 
now,  in  a  gracefully  lithe  attitude,  with  color  alive  in  her 
cheeks  and  in  her  arms,  and  with  the  breath  lifting  her 
bosom  gently,  peacefully,  lovably. 

And  now  Noll  tried  another  experiment  from  the  books. 
He  began  to  say  to  her: 

"You  are  well  now,  Dimny.  Your  nightmare  is  over. 
This  is  Noll  Winsor  talking.  When  the  clock  strikes,  count 
the  strokes.  And  when  it  strikes  eight  times,  open  your 
eyes  and  take  up  your  life  again.  Understand?" 

He  said  this  over  and  over  and  over.  He  held  her  warm 
hand  while  he  said  it,  and  though  he  felt  no  answering 
pressure,  every  time  he  said  "Understand?"  there  was  a 

60 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Itttle  tremor  in  the  great  petals  of  her  eyelids,  as  if  they 
were  impatient  to  obey. 

At  a  little  before  eight  the  doctor  came.  The  nurse 
was  there  in  uniform.  Noll  and  his  mother  waited  outside 
the  door.  They  did  not  know  what  stimulus  the  doctor 
had  planned  to  use.  He  wanted  to  perform  his  miracle 
himself. 

The  town  clock  began  to  boom  in  long,  leaping  throbs 
of  sound.  Eight  times  the  billows  of  tone  went  across  the 
air,  and  then  Noll  and  his  mother  heard  the  doctor  gasp. 
They  heard  the  nurse  drop  something  as  the  doctor  cried 
out,  "Quick!  put  pillows  back  of  her!" 

Noll  could  not  wait.  He  opened  the  door  and  said, 
"Did  you  call  me?" 

The  doctor  answered  by  pointing  toward  the  bed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DIMNY  PARCOT  sat  upright,  oblivious  of  her  audience 
and  putting  her  hair  back  with  gentle  sweeping  ges 
tures.  She  was  perfecting  a  noble  yawn.  Noll  had  never 
before  admired  the  act  or  thought  it  beautiful.  Always 
before  it  had  meant  a  losing  battle  with  sleep.  Now  it  was 
the  last  struggle  of  sleep.  It  was  the  twilight  before  the 
daybreak. 

Dimny  had  come  back  to  life.  And  nothing  proved  it 
more  vividly  than  the  fact  that,  as  her  eyes  made  out  that 
she  was  not  alone,  one  of  her  hands  dropped  quickly  be 
fore  her  lips  to  hide  her  magnificent  yawn,  and  she 
gasped : 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 

She  was  awake  enough  now  to  realize  that  there  were 
strangers  who  stared  at  her.  And  her  muscles,  taking  up 
again  their  instinctive  duties,  gathered  the  coverlet  about 
her,  and  she  began  to  be  afraid  again. 

Mrs.  Winsor  pushed  the  doctor  and  Miss  Stowell  aside, 
clasped  her  close,  and  spoke  to  her  motherly: 

"My  dear,  you  are  with  friends.  You  have  been  ill, 
but  we  love  you  and  you  are  well  again." 

Dimny  acknowledged  the  affection  by  returning  the 
embrace ;  then  she  disengaged  herself  a  little  to  say : 

"Thank  yotL  You're  very  good.  But  who — who — 
please — who  are  you?  And  where  are  we?" 

"I  am  Mrs.  Winsor,  and  this  is  my  son  Noll  Winsor,  and 
this  is  Doctor  Mitford  and  Miss  Stowell." 

"Noll  Winsor!"  Dimny  cried.  "Oh,  I  know  that 
name." 

Noll  blushed  with  joy  to  think  that  his  courtship  had  not 
been  altogether  vain.  But  when  he  stepped  forward  her 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

eyes  did  not  know  him  and  she  shrank  into  his  mother's 
arms,  whispering: 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I'm  mistaken.  I've  never  seen 
you  before,  I  think." 

Noll  said  nothing,  but  fell  back,  disheartened.  Doctor 
Mitford  took  charge  of  the  case  and  told  his  patient  in  his 
bedsidiest  manner  that  she  had  been  through  a  fever, 
and  that  she  was  all  well  but  the  getting  strong  enough 
to  go  about  her  business. 

"About  my  business — oh  yes!"  said  Dimny.  And  then  a 
wave  of  terror  broke  over  her.  She  seemed  to  be  retreating 
into  her  past,  when  the  doctor  sharply  commanded  her 
to  stop  her  nonsense  and  get  well. 

Dimny  responded  to  the  lash  and  collected  herself.  She 
asked: 

"Does  anybody  know  who  I  am?" 

Doctor  Mitford  rescued  the  Winsors  from  their  con 
sciences  by  saying: 

"We  haven't  the  faintest  idea,  except  that  you  fell 
into  the  hands  of  these  good  people  here.  Don't  tell  us 
anything  till  you're  good  and  ready.  The  main  thing  is, 
the  sooner  you  wake  up  and  the  more  you  eat  and  do  as 
you're  told,  the  sooner  you'll  be  able  to  go  wherever  you 
were  going." 

Dimny  pondered  a  long  while,  eying  the  spectators 
furtively  before  she  made  another  query: 

"Did  I  have  anything  with  me — any  money,  or  any 
thing?" 

Noll  spoke:    "Yes,  my  mother  found  this." 

Dimny  started  at  his  voice  and  stared  at  him  keenly, 
but  when  he  brought  forward  the  money-belt  she  took  it 
eagerly  from  his  hand.  She  merely  glanced  at  the  money, 
but  she  studied  the  stitching  closely.  Her  fingers  sur 
reptitiously  kneaded  the  space  where  the  letter  was  hidden. 
She  breathed  deeply  with  relief. 

The  doctor,  understanding  nothing  of  this,  felt  called 
upon  to  intervene. 

"I  don't  want  to  bother  you,  but  have  you  a  mother  or 
anybody  that  might  be  worrying  about  you?" 

Noll  and  Mrs.  Winsor  put  out  their  hands  to  check  him, 

72 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

but  the  word  had  passed,  and  Dimny  broke.  Tears 
gushed  to  her  eyelids;  sobs  pounded  at  her  heart,  and 
she  cried:  "My  mother!  Oh,  my  mother!  My  poor 
mother!" 

Mrs.  Winsor  gathered  her  up  again  and  held  her  while 
her  grief  flung  and  tore  her.  Mrs.  Winsor  ordered  the  doc 
tor  and  Noll  and  the  nurse  out  of  the  room  with  her  eyes, 
and  whispered  what  comfort  she  could. 

"Don't  tell  me  anything  you  don't  want  to,  my  sweet 
child.  But  let  me  be  your  mother  till  you  find  your  own." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you,"  Dimny  wailed.  "I  can't, 
though;  I  can't.  But  you  are  good,  good,  and  I'll  try  not 
to  be  any  more  trouble  to  you.  I've  been  enough.  Have 
I  been  here  long?" 

When  she  learned  how  much  time  had  been  squandered 
in  idleness,  she  found  strength  somewhere  to  suffer  another 
onslaught  of  pain  and  self-reproach. 

Again  Mrs.  Winsor  dragged  her  up  from  despair  and 
promised  her  help  and  compelled  her  to  lift  her  fardels 
again. 

Days  followed  of  alternate  surrender  to  gloom  and  re- 
conquest  of  hope.  Always  Dimny 's  mission  had  to  be  held 
before  her.  She  must  eat  because  she  needed  the  strength. 
She  must  read  or  talk  because  her  mind  must  not  poison 
itself  with  brooding.  She  must  go  out  riding  in  the  car 
because  the  air  was  medicine. 

She  was  as  obedient  as  she  could  be  in  everything,  but 
she  would  not  talk  of  herself  when  the  doctor  asked  her  to. 
Noll  and  Mrs.  Winsor  never  troubled  her.  They  knew 
already  too  much  for  their  peace  of  mind. 

She  would  not  meet  the  townspeople,  and  the  Winsors 
did  not  urge  her  to.  They  kept  a  guard  about  her,  and  the 
tormented  neighbors  had  their  own  theories  for  their  own 
information. 

Noll  was  desperately  in  love  with  her,  but  she  would 
none  of  love,  except  a  sad  and  sisterly  tenderness  and  the 
gratitude  of  a  beggar.  He  suffered  from  her  gratitude, 
but  dared  not  ask  for  any  other  boon.  His  heart  hungered 
for  endearments,  but  he  felt  that  his  first  hint  of  a  caress 
might  cast  her  back  into  the  pit  of  oblivion  where  Lou 
6  73 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Neebe  left  her.  He  dared  not  play  any  part  but  that  of 
brother,  court  jester,  nurse,  and  servant. 

And  she  gave  him  ample  reward  of  thanks  in  all  of  those 
offices,  but  never  dreamed  of  him  otherwise.  She  was 
intent  upon  thoughts  that  he  understood  and  dared  not 
ask  to  share.  She  was  getting  well  frantically,  too  frantic 
ally  for  her  own  success.  When  the  doctor  told  her  that 
it  would  take  weeks  to  build  her  strength  anew,  she 
scouted  him.  ••  When  he  warned  her  that  any  rash  act 
might  throw  her  back  to  where  she  had  been,  she  yielded 
with  reluctance. 

She  asked  the  news  of  the  war  with  a  feverish  interest. 
It  was  December  by  then,  and  the  manhood  of  Europe  had 
taken  up  a  hellish  residence  in  the  endless  leagues  of  freez 
ing  ditches.  The  deadlock  had  gripped  the  armies  of  the 
world,  and  the  sorry  Christmas  of  1914  was  the  next  im 
portant  event  in  the  calendar  of  America. 

The  second  evening  after  she  was  strong  enough  to  take 
dinner  with  the  family,  Dimny  sighed: 

"Last  Christmas  I  was  at  home  with  my  father  and  my 
mother  and  my  sister,  and  we  were  complaining  of  the 
flowers  and  the  fruits  of  California.  We  wanted  cold  and 
snow.  We  were  complaining  of  roses!  And  this  Christ 
mas  where  shall  we  be?  This  Christmas!" 

She  did  not  weep.  She  was  worn  out  with  tears.  But 
she  ran  from  the  room.  Noll  and  his  mother  did  not 
pursue  her.  They  finished  their  meal  in  miserable  silence. 

Noll  waited  a  long  time  now  before  he  said : 

"  Mother,  hadn't  you  better  go  comfort  the  poor  thing?" 

He  helped  her  up  the  stairs  and  stood  back  while  his 
mother  tapped  on  the  door.  The  very  sound  seemed  to 
imply  an  empty  room.  Getting  no  answer,  Mrs.  Winsor 
went  in.  An  envelope  set  up  against  a  pincushion  caught 
her  eye. 

While  she  fumbled  for  her  glasses  she  called  to  Noll. 
He  ran  in,  took  the  envelope  from  his  mother's  hand  and 
read: 

DEAR  KIND  PEOPLE, — Forgive  me,  but  I  have  gone  on  my  way. 
I  have  troubled  you  enough.  This  five  hundred  dollars  is  for  the 
doctor,  the  nurse,  and  a  few  of  my  expenses.  I  can  never  repay  your 

74 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

goodness  except  with  undying  gratitude  and  my  ceaseless  prayers. 
If  you  do  not  hear  from  me  again,  it  is  because  I  have  failed  in  my 
mission.  My  love  for  you  both  will  never  fail.  God  bless  and  keep 
you. 

Your  devoted 

DlMNY. 

Noll  ran  for  his  car  and  sent  it  flying  to  the  railroad 
station.  The  Eastern  express  was  just  moving  out,  a 
sliding  array  of  lighted  windows  and  dark.  In  the  smoke, 
sparks  were  alive  like  shooting  stars.  One  of  the  baggage 
men  told  the  breathless  youth  that  he  had  seen  a  strange 
young  lady  clamber  aboard  the  sleeping-car. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  resolution  to  set  out  on  her  pilgrimage  had  not 
come  to  Dimny  suddenly.  She  reproached  herself 
for  the  selfishness  and  laziness  she  had  shown  in  being  ill 
so  long. 

She  w?is  convinced  that  the  Winsors  were  ignorant  of  her 
errand  in  Europe,  the  corrosive  poisonous  secret  she  had 
sewn  into  her  money-belt.  She  was  grateful  for  their 
goodness  to  her,  yet  modest  enough  to  feel  that  her  best 
proof  of  gratitude  would  be  the  removal  of  herself  from 
their  long-burdened  charity.  She  feared  to  announce  her 
departure  lest  they  try  to  persuade  her  to  tarry  yet  a 
while. 

She  made  ready  a  little  bundle  of  things  she  had  bought 
since  she  came  to  Carthage.  She  left  it  on  the  hall-tree 
when  she  went  down  to  dinner.  The  grief  that  swept  over 
her,  remembering  the  happy  Christmas  of  a  year  ago, 
made  an  unintentionally  pat  excuse  for  leaving  the  dining- 
room. 

Instead  of  climbing  the  stairs  she  gathered  up  her  bundle 
and  went  stealthily  out  into  the  street.  It  was  her  first  walk 
alone  since  her  illness. 

She  shivered  and  sped  down  the  darker  ways  to  the 
railroad  station.  She  could  tell  by  the  slump  of  the 
pessimistic  hack-horses,  with  blankets  over  their  backs, 
and  the  cluster  of  motor-cars  with  blankets  over  their 
radiators,  that  the  train  had  not  yet  come  and  gone.  She 
would  not  go  into  the  light  and  warmth  within-doors  lest 
some  one  speak  to  her.  She  haunted  the  shadows  outside 
till  the  locomotive  appeared,  a  black  dragon  breathing  fire 
and  spitting  sparks,  but  amiable  to  her  purposes. 

She  hurried  to  the  sleeping-car  and  found  that  one  lower 
berth  was  left.  She  had  provided  herself  with  money  for 

76 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

the  journey  from  her  money-belt,  and  she  paid  her  fare  to 
the  conductor  in  cash. 

It  was  blessed  to  feel  the  train  move  and  take  her  with  it. 
It  was  wonderful  to  be  rid  of  that  clamping  paralysis  that 
had  held  her  in  motionless  torment  so  long.  Motion  was 
life ;  it  was  progress,  success. 

After  a  while  the  porter  began  to  make  up  the  berths. 
Dimny  found  that  a  strange  and  ominous  man  was  to 
occupy  the  pigeonhole  above  her. 

Her  nerves,  sharpened  by  their  ordeal,  trembled  at  the 
amenities  of  sleeping-car  life,  which  would  be  incredible  if 
they  were  not  commonplace.  She  must  sleep  in  a  double- 
decked  bed  behind  the  very  same  curtains  with  a  total 
stranger,  her  only  guard  a  swaying  cloth  door  that  but 
toned  down  the  front  and  had  no  lock  at  the  top.  But 
custom  hallows  all  things,  and  she  would  have  been  ac 
counted  ridiculous  rather  than  modest  if  she  had  protested. 

She  slept  a  little,  but  fitfully,  raising  the  window-shade 
now  and  then  to  stare  out  at  the  bleak  plains  sliding  past, 
the  vast  spaces  of  farmland  in  a  double  trance  of  night  and 
winter. 

Relenting  fate  permitted  her  to  find  her  trunk  in  Chicago 
and  reclaim  it  by  the  payment  of  the  storage  charges.  In 
the  lost-and-f  ound  room  she  unearthed  her  suit-case  and  her 
hand-bag;  they  were  just  as  she  had  left  them  on  the  Santa 
Fe  sleeper — to  her  powder-puff,  her  trunk-keys,  her  small 
money,  and  the  various  other  things  that  make  up  the 
chaos  of  a  woman's  wrist  pocket. 

She  pondered  bitterly  how  much  time  she  had  lost  by  her 
impatience  at  Macuta.  If  she  had  not  attempted  the  short 
cut  by  way  of  Carthage  she  would  not  have  met  the  ad 
venture  that  threw  her  into  the  long,  bad  dream.  She 
would  have  saved  weeks  of  delay.  She  would  have  been  in 
Belgium  by  now — unless  some  other  accident  had  prevented. 

Who  knows  when  he  is  really  making  progress?  How 
many  years  the  Kaiser  lost  and  how  many  enemies  he 
gained  by  cutting  across  Belgium!  If  he  had  been  in  less 
wasteful  haste  he  would  have  escaped,  for  one  thing,  the 
befouling  of  his  escutcheon  with  the  blood  and  anguish  of 
Flanders  and  the  unifying  of  a  world  against  him.  But 

77 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

then,  if  Germany  had  not  been  in  such  a  hurry  Belgium 
would  have  been  left  untroubled  and  then  Dimny  would 
have  had  no  occasion  to  attempt  her  journey  at  all.  Thus 
every  if  involves  a  chain  of  others. 

When  she  had  boarded  the  east-bound  train  her  enforced 
repose  enabled  her  grief  to  catch  up  with  her  again.  Re 
gret  in  a  tempest  swept  across  her  soul,  and  the  periods  of 
forgetfulness  had  been  merely  a  brief  sleep  that  refreshed 
her  power  to  suffer.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  respite,  as 
one  who  remembers  his  beloved  dead  now  and  then  is 
shaken  with  gusts  of  protest  and  remorse  for  the  times  of 
surcease  from  mourning. 

' '  Why,  Dimny  Parcot !     Hello  there !' ' 

She  looked  up  to  see  Katherine  Devoe,  a  girl  she  had  met 
in  Los  Angeles,  a  riant,  boisterous  traveler  just  from  Japan 
via  Honolulu,  a  ukelele-thrummer,  a  living  repertory  of  all 
the  latest,  flashiest  songs  and  dances  and  amusements. 

Dimny  shrank  from  her.  She  was  an  utter  anachronism 
in  Dimny 's  gloom.  Worse  yet,  she  had  with  her  a  young 
man. 

She  introduced  him  to  Dimny  as  Mr.  Lane  Sperling. 
When  Dimny  acknowledged  the  presentation  with  only  a 
curt  nod,  Miss  Devoe  laughed. 

"Why  the  feverish  enthusiasm?  Sperly's  not  half  as 
fierce  as  he  looks." 

It  was  impossible  to  comment  on  such  a  statement. 
Miss  Devoe  clattered  on: 

"And  we're  perfectly  proper.  I  have  an  ancient  aunt 
in  the  drawing-room.  She's  train-sick — ideal  chaperon." 

She  read  Dimny 's  face  accurately  and  aloud.  "Don't 
look  so  frightened.  We're  not  going  to  sit  down.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  You're  alone,  aren't  you? 
Had  your  lunch?" 

"No,"  said  Dimny,  wishing  at  once  that  she  had  said 
she  had. 

"Come  along  with  us  to  the  dining-car  and  Sperly  will 
blow  you  to  foods." 

Dimny  shook  her  head,  but  Miss  Devoe  would  not  be 
denied,  and  Dimny  went  with  her  to  get  rid  of  her. 

78 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

It  was  well  for  Dimny  that  she  should  have  a  little 
coercion  and  that  society  should  be  inflicted  on  her,  for  she 
would  not  have  sought  it  of  herself.  As  soon  as  they  had 
swayed  and  jostled  through  aisle  after  aisle  to  the  dining- 
car,  and  had  given  their  orders,  Miss  Devoe  began  on 
Dimny.  Of  course  she  would  select  the  most  hideously 
inappropriate  remark.  It  is  a  gift. 

"How's  your  darling  of  a  mother?" 

Dimny  was  thunderstruck.  She  faltered:  "She's  all 
right,  thanks.  How's  yours?" 

"Fairly  fit.  Your  mother  was  just  leaving  for  Europe, 
you  remember,  the  day  I  met  her.  She's  such  a  dear! 
So  beautiful!  and  so  young-looking!"  She  turned  to  her 
companion  and  praised  Dimny's  mother  till  she  had  the 
tears  dancing  on  Dimny's  cheeks.  Then  she  flung  the  next 
most  shocking  question  like  a  hand-grenade. 

"Where  you  bound  for?" 

Dimny  could  hardly  venture  to  confess  "Belgium." 
She  confessed  half  of  the  truth — "  New  York.'" 

Miss  Devoe  still  pursued  her.  "Your  mother  there? 
No?  Where  you  stopping?  Why  don't  you  let  me  put 
you  up?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  Some  hotel.  Thank  you,  I — I'm 
going  right  on  across." 

"Not  to  England?" 

"Yes." 

"But  really,  how  sporty!  Going  as  a  nurse  or  some 
thing?" 

"No—    Yes—    That  is— " 

"You  mean  it's  none  of  my  business.  I  get  you.  Still, 
forgive  me  for  butting  in,  but  don't  you  think  it's  an 
awfully  bad  month  to  be  crossing  the  ocean — December? 
The  weather  is  sure  to  be  rotten." 

A  little  later  people  would  be  forgetting  that  the  ocean 
had  ever  been  considered  dangerous  just  of  itself.  Yet  a 
few  months,  and  that  Germany  which  had  brought  to 
earth  more  towers  than  a  thousand  years  of  earthquakes 
would  be  choking  the  seas  with  more  broken  ships  than  a 
thousand  years  of  tempest. 

Yet  a  few  months  and  the  other  nations  would  think  of 

70 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Germany  as  the  only  peril  to  be  met  on  sea  or  land,  in  the 
flesh  or  in  the  spirit. 

So  now,  in  unconscious  irony,  Miss  Devoe  said,  "  Why  not 
wait  a  few  months  till  the  war  is  over,  and  the  winter,  too?" 

Sperling  interposed,  "Lord  Kitchener  says  the  war  will 
last  three  years." 

"Oh,  Kitchie  is  just  talking  scare-talk  to  make  the 
English  people  volunteer  faster,"  was  Miss  Devoe's  ex 
planation.  "There  aren't  people  enough  or  dollars  enough 
to  keep  the  war  going  more  than  a  few  months.  Germany 
will  have  to  give  in." 

"This  war's  been  a  great  lesson  to  me,"  said  Sperling. 
"My  dad  has  always  talked  thrift  to  me,  and  my  mother 
talked  religion,  and  the  preacher  preached  peace.  But 
what  did  you  see  over  there  in  Belgium?  The  thriftiest 
people  in  the  world,  the  most  careful,  saving,  industrious 
people  you  ever  heard  of.  They  were  pious,  too,  and  they 
believed  in  peace  so  much  that  all  the  nations  guaranteed 
their  neutrality. 

"And  then  the  Kaiser  comes  whooping  to  the  door. 
'Let  me  through,'  says  he.  'We  don't  dast/  says  they. 
'Bang-oh!'  says  the  Kaiser.  Down  goes  the  door.  In 
come  the  Huns.  It's  a  picnic  for  the  Germans.  They're 
so  anxious  to  loot  something  that  they  began  to  loot  before 
they  got  into  Belgium.  Some  little  towns  in  Germany, 
near  the  border,  looked  Belgian,  so  they  looted  them. 
Good  joke  on  the  towns,  eh?  The  soldiers  got  drunk. 
Their  own  generals  admit  it.  They  were  the  sousedest 
army  that  ever  marched.  People  say  you  could  trace 
'em  by  the  broken  bottles.  They  got  to  shooting  wild. 
They  accused  the  Belgians  of  starting  riots.  Says  the 
elephant  to  the  ant,  'Who  are  you  shoving?'  You  know 
how  reliable  barroom  justice  was  in  the  wild  West.  Well, 
the  Germans  shot  first  and  held  the  trial  afterward.  They 
had  a  scoundrel  write  a  book  accusing  the  Belgians  of  all 
the  activities  and  denying  that  the  Germans  committed 
any.  The  author  was  a  drunkard,  a  drug-fiend,  a  yellow 
hound.  A  German  judge  sentenced  him  later  and  said 
worse  things  about  him  than  anybody  else  could. 

"Not  that  I'd  have  blamed  the  Belgians  for  shooting. 

80 


I  suppose  a  few  of  them  did.  I'd  be  ashamed  of  them  if 
they  didn't.  But  what  were  the  Germans  doing  there? 
Who  wouldn't  shoot  a  burglar? 

"And  the  most  hopeless  part  of  it  is  that  they're  not 
ashamed  of  it.  They  don't  say,  'We  lost  our  temper.' 
They  say,  'We  were  foully  attacked.'  They  call  the 
Belgians  beasts.  I  read  in  one  of  their  pamphlets  about 
Die  Belgien  Bestien.  Can  you  beat  it  ? 

"Did  you  read  what  their  own  war-books  say?  It's  so 
crooked  it's  beautiful.  It  says  something  like  this:  '  In  an 
occupied  country  the  people  must  be  kept  quiet  by  terroriz 
ing  'em.  It's  unfortunate,  but  the  best  way  to  terrorize 
people  is  to  make  the  innocent  suffer  with  the  guilty.  In 
fact,  if  you  can't  find  the  guilty,  the  innocent  must  suffer 
in  their  place.' 

"Don't  you  just  love  'em?  Those  are  the  pious  talkers 
for  you!  Christ  said  it  was  better  for  ninety  guilty  to 
escape  than  for  one  innocent  to  suffer.  Am  I  right  ?  Well, 
the  Germans  just  put  the  reverse  English  on  it  as  usual. 
Be  sure  the  innocent  suffer;  get  the  guilty  if  you  can.  I 
look  at  the  calendar  and  say  nineteen  fourteen  is  a  typo 
graphical  error  for  fourteen  nineteen." 

Miss  Devoe  put  in  a  word:  "You  can't  believe  half  you 
hear.  The  stories  have  been  ridiculously  exaggerated." 

"Of  course  they  have,"  said  Sperling.  "They're  bound 
to  be.  But  something  must  have  happened  to  start  all 
that  talk.  Besides,  if  you  tell  me  that  I  shot  sixty  priests 
and — and  abused  fifty  women,  and  I  answer  you  back, 
'That's  a  lie;  I  only  shot  fifteen  priests  and  three  women,' 
that  doesn't  exactly  make  me  a  little  woolly  white  lamb, 
does  it?  It  doesn't  prove  that  you  owe  me  an  apology 
for  slandering  me,  does  it?  Or  does  it?  I  ask  you.  Just 
how  much  apology  do  you  owe  a  pirate  if  you  overstate  the 
number  of  peaceful  citizens  he  pushed  off  the  plank?" 

The  talk  was  getting  too  serious  for  Miss  Devoe's  im 
patient  mind.  She  wanted  to  flit  to  pleasanter  topics, 
so  she  said : 

"Well,  it's  no  skin  off  you,  is  it,  Sperly  ?  You  don't  have 
to  get  so  red  in  the  face.  It  doesn't  go  with  your  mauve 
tie." 

81 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Sperling  was  incandescent.  "  I'm  not  going  to  converse; 
I'm  going  to  act.  Don't  tell  my  mother,  for  the  Lord's 
sake,  but  I'm  on  my  way  to  England.  I'm  going  to  join 
up  with  the  British  and  go  after  those  hounds." 

Miss  Devoe  was  thrilled  with  the  picturesqueness  of  this. 
"Lord!  you  don't  mean  it!  How  interesting!  How  un 
like  you!  Do  you  know,  I'm  half  tempted  to  go  over,  too, 
and  run  an  ambulance  or  something.  I'd  be  a  nurse,  but 
it's  awfully  messy.  Take  me  along,  Sperly,  and  I'll  be  your 
maid  or  valet  or  something.  I  can  run  a  car.  I  can 
nearly  run  an  airship.  I  can  shoot,  ride.  Take  me  along, 
Sperly.  There's  a  dear.  It  would  be  a  glorious  lark." 

"Shut  up,  Kit.  You  make  me  sick  with  your  ever 
lasting  larks.  I've  got  an  idea  of  what  it  really  means,  and 
I'm  ashamed  to  belong  to  the  human  race." 

Miss  Devoe  laughed  at  him,  but  Dimny  was  choked. 
Her  heart  went  out  to  the  flippant  youth  on  whom  sub 
limity  sat  so  ill — and  yet  sat  not  so  ill.  His  foppery  gave 
perhaps  the  final  note  of  majesty.  Shakespeare  had  to  put 
a  fool  alongside  King  Lear  as  the  superlative  touch.  The 
modern  knight  errant  dangles  a  cigarette  from  his  lip  and 
instead  of  blank  verse  flings  slang.  Yet  he  fights  as  hard, 
endures  as  well,  and  dies  as  holily  as  ever  man  has  fought 
or  endured  or  died. 

The  next  morning  found  New  York  punctually  in  place 
when  the  train  stopped.  The  thronged  station,  the  jostle 
and  clamor,  the  realization  of  the  riddles  ahead  of  her,  led 
Dimny  to  repent  declining  to  visit  Katherine  Devoe. 

She  grew  afraid  of  the  big  hotels  and  the  staring  men  with 
their  glances  reaching  out  like  antennae. 

When  Katherine  said,  "Sure  you  won't  come  along  with 
me?"  Dimny  answered,  "If  you  really  want  me,  I  believe 
I  will." 

"Bully  for  you.     Of  course  I  want  you." 

"  Give  me  time  to  send  a  telegram  ?" 

"To  your  young  man,  giving  a  corrected  address?"  railed 
Miss  Devoe. 

"  I  have  no  young  man,"  said  Dimny. 

"Permit  me  to  apply  for  the  job,"  said  Sperling.  "Kate 

82 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

is  going  to  be  my  maid.  Let  me  be  your  valet.  Can't 
I  get  your  passport  and  your  ticket  to  Europe  while  I'm 
getting  mine?" 

Dimny  was  very  grateful.     Sperling  said: 

"Consider  it  done.  Do  you  mind  my  riding  on  your 
steamer  across  your  ocean?" 

Dimny  startled  him  by  the  earnestness  of  her  response. 

'It  would  be  an  honor  to  go  with  a  soldier.  I'm  proud 
to  meet  an  American  who  realizes  that  this  is  America's 
business  as  well  as  Europe's." 

Sperling  felt  himself  grow  a  cubit  taller  as  she  praised 
him.  He  stared  after  her  when  she  went  to  the  telegraph- 
desk,  and  said:  "Me  for  her  strong.  She's  got  something 
on  her  mind,  though.  I  wonder  what  it  is." 

"Another  man,  probably,"  was  Katherine's  taunt.  The 
barb  struck  in  deep  and  stuck.  Sperling  winced  visibly. 
She  roared  at  that. 

Dimny  began  her  telegram  by  writing  Lane  Sperling. 
She  crossed  that  out  hastily  and  wrote  "Oliver  Winsor." 
She  crossed  that  out  and  wrote  "Mrs.  Edward  Winsor." 
To  her  she  wrote  with  spontaneous  gratitude,  but  she  did 
not  add  her  address.  She  did  not  know  it.  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  that  it  would  interest  the  Winsors! 

Arrived  safe  and  sound.  Please  don't  worry  about  me.  Dearest 
love  and  gratitude  to  you  both.  Sailing  on  first  Cunarder. 

DIMNY  PARCOT. 

She  did  not  dream  how  Noll's  gloom  was  pierced  with 
joy  at  this  word  from  her.  And  her  word  was  "dearest 
love."  He  closed  his  eyes  upon  it  and  breathed  deep  of 
its  savor.  Then  he  read  again  and  saw  it  coupled  with 
"gratitude"  and  with  "both."  She  loved  him  as  she 
loved  his  mother! 

Noll  fought  himself  out  in  solitude.  He  rebuked  himself 
for  feeling  hurt.  Dimny  had  given  him  no  pledge  of  love. 
He  had  given  her  no  hint  of  it  beyond  what  he  had  mur 
mured  to  her  during  her  long  sleep,  and  she  had  forgotten 
that  as  one  forgets  the  dreams  that  do  not  waken. 

His  hurt  resentment  softened  to  a  tender  regard  for  her 
welfare.  He  was  moved  to  send  her  some  message  that 

83 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

might  help  her  in  some  moment  of  peril.  He  had  a  super 
stitious  feeling  that  it  might  act  as  a  talisman  to  her,  or  at 
the  very  least  as  a  reminder  that  he  still  existed  and  still 
thought  of  her. 

He  wrought  upon  a  message  and  could  make  nothing 
better  than  this  echo  of  his  old  call  to  her  soul  when  it 
slept : 

Dimny,  Dimny  Parcot.  I  am  Noll  Winsor.  I  love  you,  Dimny. 
I  want  to  be  your  friend.  Let  me  live  for  you  or  die  in  your  place. 
Dimny,  this  is  Noll  Winsor. 

It  was  insane,  but  it  had  a  certain  fervor  that  expressed 
his  wild  emotion,  and  he  was  afraid  to  let  cold  reason  tamper 
with  his  exaltation. 

He  dared  not  send  such  a  message  by  wire.  He  could 
not  face  the  telegraph  operator  or  the  girl  who  would  take 
the  message  and  tap  the  words  with  her  pencil  as  she 
counted  them.  He  could  see  her  look  up  as  his  exotic 
phrases  caught  her  eye. 

So  he  sealed  the  message  in  an  envelope  and,  having 
no  other  address  of  hers  and  no  immediate  means  of  finding 
what  ship  sailed  next,  or  when,  addressed  it  to  "Miss 
Dimny  Parcot,  care  Cunard  Co.,  New  York,"  put  a  special- 
delivery  stamp  on  it,  and  carried  it  down  to  the  train.  He 
hoped  that  it  might  catch  her  before  she  sailed,  or  that  it 
might  be  delivered  to  her  out  at  sea. 

When  the  train  came  in  he  handed  the  letter  up  to  the 
postal  clerk,  who  took  it  without  a  suspicion  of  what  mad 
ness  it  contained.  But  then  he  was  used  to  handling 
parcels  of  mystery 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A>  luck  would  have  it,  Noll's  letter  was  handed  to 
Lane  Sperling  the  second  afternoon,  while  he  was 
at  the  Cunard  office  taking  up  the  tickets  he  had  reserved 
for  Dimny  and  Katherine  and  himself. 

He  gave  it  to  Dimny  when  he  called  at  the  Devoe  home 
with  the  passports. 

Katherine  cried:  "Aha!  a  deadly  rival.  I  knew  she  had 
a  young  man  concealed  somewhere.  And  a  special- 
deviltry  stamp  on  it,  too!" 

Dimny  was  puzzled.  She  took  the  letter,  but  did  not 
recognize  the  handwriting.  With  a  mumbled  apology  she 
opened  it  and  glanced  within  at  the  signature. 

When  she  read,  "Noll  Winsor,"  she  said,  "Oh!"  She 
tried  to  say  it  casually,  but  the  abrupt  appearance  of  that 
name  and  all  it  connoted  struck  her  wits  awry. 

She  had  not  mentioned  to  Katherine  or  Sperling  the  fact 
of  her  long  sojourn  in  Carthage.  She  could  not  explain 
Noll  Winsor  without  explaining  how  she  came  to  know  him. 

She  saw  that  Sperling  was  wounded  and  that  some  ideal 
he  had  cherished  of  her  had  suffered  a  hurt.  Katherine 
saw  this,  too,  and  made  the  most  of  it. 

"Look  at  Sperly!  He's  turned  a  sickly  green.  What 
did  you  think,  Sperly?  That  she  had  never  seen  a  man 
before  she  saw  you  ?  Of  course  she  said  she  had  no  young 
man,  but  I  never  believed  her  for  a  moment." 

"Really!"  Dimny  protested,  and  could  find  nothing  more 
explicit  to  say. 

When  she  shook  off  Katherine  and  got  to  her  room  and 
read  Noll  Winsor's  plea  for  remembrance,  she  was  ex 
quisitely  distressed,  for  she  did  not  want  the  love  of  men, 
not  now,  not  that  sort  of  love.  She  was  a  priestess  or 
dained  to  one  pitiful  cause,  and  she  was  ashamed  to  find 

85 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

that  she  was  making  herself  attractive  in  men's  eyes.  The 
very  thoughts  of  sex  and  of  romance  were  abhorrent  to  her. 
She  felt  besmirched  and  disloyal. 

She  turned  to  her  passport,  signed  by  the  Secretary  of 
State,  Mr.  W.  J.  Bryan.  It  was  very  grand  in  its  diction. 

The  United  States  of  America,  Department  of  State,  to  all  to 
whom  these  presents  shall  come,  greeting.  I,  the  undersigned, 
Secretary  of  State  of  the  United  States  of  America,  hereby  request 
all  whom  it  may  concern  to  permit  Dimny  Parcot,  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States,  safely  and  freely  to  pass  and  in  case  of  need  to  give  her 
all  Aid  and  Protection. 

In  the  margin  was  her  description,  and  there  was  a  line 
for  her  signature,  and  a  statement  that  all  this  was  "from 
under  my  hand  and  the  seal  of  the  Department  of  State 
at  the  City  of  Washington  in  the  year  1914  and  of  the 
Independence  of  the  United  States  the  one  hundred  and 
thirty-ninth." 

With  such  sonorous  authority  and  in  all  the  panoply  of 
citizenship  Dimny  ought  to  have  felt  powerful  enougn  to 
confront  the  world.  But  what  she  read  in  the  papers 
was  not  so  comforting,  knowing  what  she  did  of  the  German 
armament  that  knocked  the  steel  and  concrete  fortresses 
of  Lie*ge  to  flinders,  and  of  the  torrents  of  soldiery  that 
poured  in  all  directions  over  all  the  surrounding  lands, 
the  millions  and  millions  of  men  intrenched  and  squander 
ing  ammunition  all  day  and  all  night.  In  many  public 
statements  it  was  exposed  that  the  army  of  the  United 
States  was  about  twice  the  size  of  the  police  force  of  New 
York  City;  that  the  whole  army  would  not  half  fill  the  Yale 
Bowl;  that  while  there  was  almost  no  field  artillery  in  the 
country,  there  was  not  ammunition  enough  in  the  country 
to  feed  even  what  little  there  was  for  more  than  one  day; 
that  it  would  take  years  to  provide  arms  or  ammunition; 
that  the  nation  had  not  one  field-mortar  of  large  size;  that 
helpless  Belgium's  army  was  larger  and  better  equipped; 
that  the  navy  was  in  a  tragical,  farcical  state  of  unreadi 
ness.  The  nation,  indeed,  was  unable  to  resent  even  the 
atrocities  committed  against  American  persons  and  prop 
erty  in  backward  Mexico. 

86 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Yet  only  a  few  people  apparently  were  alarmed  at  this 
situation  and  they  were  called  "alarmists."  There  was 
overwhelming  hostility  or  indifference  to  preparation,  to 
the  increase  of  the  army  or  its  equipment,  to  the  enlistment 
of  a  national  force.  There  was  fierce  hostility  to  the  manu 
facture  of  munitions  for  the  Allies,  though  the  Germans 
had  on  similar  occasions  sold  munitions  to  warring  nations 
and  would  have  been  welcome  to  ours  if  they  could  have 
got  to  them.  One  paper  announced  with  gratification  that 
Secretary-of-State  Bryan  had  persuaded  Mr.  Schwab  of 
Bethlehem  to  give  up  a  large  contract  for  the  manufacture 
of  submarines  for  England.  Mr.  Bryan  encouragingly  an 
nounced  that  when  the  need  rose  a  million  men  would 
spring  to  arms  overnight,  though  there  were  no  arms  to 
spring  to,  and  the  millions  would  not  have  known  where 
to  spring  or  what  to  do  with  them  if  they  had  been  there. 

The  same  paper  announced  that  Count  Reventlow  in 
Germany  was  pleading  for  ruthlessness  in  the  submarine 
warfare,  even  to  the  sinking  of  neutral  ships  without 
warning,  but  this  was  regarded  as,  of  course,  inconceivable. 
The  upper  hand  was  held  by  contemptuous  persons  who 
derided  the  advocates  of  preparation  as  "hystericals,"  as 
"militarists,"  as  lusters  after  blood.  They  were  said  to 
be  the  "hirelings  of  the  munition-workers." 

One  manufacturer  of  vast  wealth  chartered  a  ship  to  send 
missionaries  to  Europe  to  prate  of  peace  at  a  long  distance 
from  the  trenches;  later  he  would  charter  whole  pages  in 
newspapers  to  publish  everywhere  his  diatribes  against 
the  knaves  and  murderers  who  advocated  preparedness 
and  insisted  that  the  inevitable  was  not  impossible. 

New  York  was  in  such  financial  distress  that  the  vagrancy 
law  was  put  in  abeyance  and  soup-kitchens  were  busy  with 
poverty.  The  charities  were  overtaxed  by  the  extraor 
dinary  demands  at  home,  yet  the  Belgian  Relief  Com 
mission  flew  its  first  flag  on  the  S.S.  Maskinonge  with  a 
$300,000  cargo  bound  for  Rotterdam,  while  Mr.  Hoover 
was  cabling  for  condensed  milk  to  keep  the  40,000  new 
born  Belgian  children  alive.  Every  day  into  New  York 
trains  were  pouring  contributions  of  food  from  all  over  the 
land,  and  the  mails  were  full  of  prayers  for  dollars  and 

87 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

pennies  to  save  the  Belgians.  Millions  of  dollars'  worth  of 
flour  and  food  went  out  on  more  ships  sailing  to  Rotterdam, 
for  the  Rockefeller  Foundation. 

Also  Dimny  read  in  the  morning  head -lines:  "  Made  club 
men  sob  with  tales  of  woe.  Irvin  Cobb  tells  of  Belgium's 
misery.  Returned  correspondent  says  only  Recording 
Angel  could  describe  horrors  accurately."  She  wept,  too, 
when  she  read  the  brief  account  of  what  he  had  seen  before 
the  Germans  gathered  him  in  and  showed  him  only  what 
they  wanted  him  to  see.  It  had  been  enough  to  turn  the 
great-hearted  humorist  to  a  tragedian,  yet  who  could  have 
dreamed  that  three  and  a  half  years  later  he  would  stand 
on  the  deck  of  a  ship  and  watch  the  torpedoed  Tuscania 
sink  with  her  freight  of  American  soldiers  ? 

The  papers  were  full  of  pictures  of  Belgian  refugees 
in  England.  Dimny  wished  that  her  mother  and  her  sister 
might  have  fled  thither.  But  that  line  in  her  sister's  letter 
saying  that  they  would  not  even  seek  the  American  Am 
bassador  in  Belgium  gave  her  an  intuition  that  they  would 
rather  hide  than  disclose  themselves. 

She  longed  for  a  partner  in  her  secret.  If  Mrs.  Devoe 
or  Katherine  had  been  of  the  type  who  offer  hospitality  to 
the  sorrow  of  others,  she  might  have  taken  them  into  her 
confidence.  But  they  did  not  even  understand  their  own 
solemnities;  they  mocked  their  own  griefs  when  they  had 
them. 

There  was  a  counter-fire  of  rage  smoldering  in  some 
quarters,  however,  burning  deeper  and  wider  and  hotter. 
And  from  this  inner  fire  that  would  at  last  envelop  the 
whole  nation  there  flew  already  certain  sparks,  men  and 
women  of  a  quick  prophetic  soul,  lovably  inflammable,  rich 
and  poor,  men  and  women,  who  builded  hospitals,  drove 
ambulances  or  airships,  tended  the  wounded  or  the  forlorn, 
or  took  up  arms  and  faced  death;  good,  brave  people, 
worthy  of  eternal  laurels — Doctor  Blake,  Doctor  Carrel, 
Allan  Seeger,  Elliott  Cowdin,  Mrs.  Wharton,  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton,  Mrs.  Vanderbilt,  Maxine  Elliott,  Anne  Morgan, 
Emery  Pottle,  Henry  Sydnor  Harrison,  Guy  Empey, 
Henry  Sheahan,  Arthur  Gleason — a  glorious  few  too  many 
to  name  in  such  a  place  as  this. 

88 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Their  characters  were  various,  their  motives  many. 
Some  went  for  pity's  sweet  sake  and  gave  their  hearts  over 
to  agonies  of  sympathy,  their  hands  to  ugly  tasks;  some 
were  kindled  by  hatred  of  Germany  and  contempt  for 
America's  inertia.  Sodom  fell  because  not  twenty  good 
souls  could  be  found  to  revenge  the  beastly  insult  to  the 
angels,  but  the  United  States  was  redeemed  by  these  hos 
tages. 

Americans  did  what  America  for  three  long  years  re 
fused.  And  so  on  the  ship  that  carried  Dimny  there  were, 
besides  Katherine  Devoe  and  Lane  Sperling,  many  who 
were  drawn  into  the  hell  of  Europe  by  their  long  heart 
strings — Samaritans,  men  and  women,  advance  agents  of 
American  altruism,  uncommercial  travelers,  pioneers  of  the 
great  remigration  from  the  New  World  to  the  Old. 

The  Transylvania  made  a  swift  passage.  The  only  dread 
ful  thing  about  the  voyage,  so  far  as  Dimny  Parcot  was 
concerned,  was  the  devotion  of  Lane  Sperling.  She  could 
not  rebuke  his  love  before  he  declared  it,  yet  his  eyes  and 
his  manner  were  as  plain  a  statement  of  his  cargo  as  a 
ship's  manifest. 

Katherine  Devoe  kept  declaring  it  for  him,  too.  She 
broke  her  promise  to  be  seasick  all  the  way  across,  or  at 
least  she  did  not  keep  to  her  cabin,  though  a  kind  of 
jaundice  affected  her  soul.  She  went  through  the  peculiar 
phase  that  people  call  a  mean  streak.  It  lasted  the 
voyage  out.  When  she  was  with  Dimny  she  talked  about 
Sperling's  infatuation  mercilessly,  but  when  she  kept 
away  there  was  even  more  annoyance  in  her  conspicuous 
absence. 

Sperling  was  in  a  silly  plight.  When  a  man  hears  himself 
nagged  at  as  the  suitor  of  a  girl  before  her  face  he  cannot 
decently  oppose  the  indictment;  and  he  cannot  gracefully 
accept  it.  When  he  is  alone  with  her,  the  voice  of  the 
teaser  is  still  present  in  echo  and  the  dilemma  remains. 

Sperling  grew  to  hate  Katherine  and  he  told  her  so — 
to  her  great  delight.  Laughter  is  one  of  love's  worst 
enemies  when  love  is  young,  and  one  of  his  best  friends 
when  love  has  settled  down.  Perhaps  it  was  because 

7  89 


THE    UNPARDONABLE   SIN 

Katherine  could  laugh  so  well  at  love  that  she  frightened  it 
away  from  herself.  Perhaps  it  was  a  pathetic  jealousy  of 
Dimny  that  drove  her  to  her  impish  humors. 

Dimny  could  not  take  love  lightly,  because  of  the  cloud 
upon  her  life.  Sperling  had  no  knowledge  of  what  the 
cloud  could  be,  but  the  solemnity  of  Dimny's  mien  won 
him  to  infatuation.  He  hungered  to  be  of  service  to  her 
and  to  make  her  his  own.  All  sorts  of  theories  tormented 
him  as  to  the  cause  of  the  despondency  she  sank  back  into 
after  every  brief  effort  of  cheer.  But  he  could  not  give 
brain  room  to  any  theory  that  implied  a  fault  of  hers. 

When  Katherine  was  alone  with  him  she  was  fertile  in 
suggestions.  She  stuck  them  into  him  like  pins  to  see  him 
squirm. 

"  Dimny  s  nursing  a  secret  sorrow,"  she  would  say.  "  It 
may  be  that  man  who  sent  her  the  letter.  He  must  have 
missed  the  boat,  or  perhaps  the  letter  said  that  he  would 
meet  her  on  the  other  shore.  There  may  have  been  a 
secret  marriage!" 

Sperling  got  up  and  walked  to  the  rail.  Katherine 
scrambled  out  of  her  deck  blankets  and  followed  him. 
Then  Sperling  bolted  to  the  men's  smoking-room.  Kath 
erine  smoked  everywhere  on  the  ship  but  there. 

Thanks  to  Katherine's  shrewish  intimidation,  Sperling 
could  not  bring  himself  to  talk  seriously  to  Dimny  all  the 
way  across.  On  the  last  night  of  the  voyage  many  people 
sat  up  late  to  see  the  first  light  of  England  dawning  from 
the  east. 

Dimny  was  one  of  these.  The  nearness  of  England 
brought  nearer  the  problem  before  her.  It  lost  simplicity 
on  approach.  It  had  been  an  easy  thing  to  avow  in 
America  that  she  would  search  Europe  for  her  mother  and 
her  sister.  She  was  the  daughter  of  an  explorer.  But 
her  father  sought  continents  and  fauna  and  flora  in  barren 
wildernesses  of  ice,  while  Dimny  must  seek  two  unfor 
tunates  among  millions  of  unfortunates.  She  must  hunt 
two  who  wanted  not  to  be  found  and  who  preferred  to  be 
thought  dead. 

When  she  tried  to  plan  her  attack  she  could  find  no 
promising  way  to  begin.  Worst  of  all,  suppose  she  found 

90 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

her  mother  and  her  sister — what  would  she  do  with  them 
then? 

Through  no  fault  of  their  own  they  had  been  visited 
with  a  kind  of  leprosy,  that  made  them  flee  the  sight  and 
knowledge  of  their  fellows. 

Thinking  of  that  grisly  word,  she  remembered  the  mother 
and  sister  of  Ben-Hur  and  his  search  for  them.  She 
remembered  that  most  pitiful  scene  when  Ben-Hur  fell 
down,  worn  out  with  vain  hunting,  and  slept  by  the  road 
side,  where  the  fugitive  mother  and  sister  found  him  and 
dared  not  waken  him  nor  even  caress  him,  but  knelt  and 
kissed  the  sole  of  his  sandal  and  fled. 

Dimny  felt  that  her  own  mother  and  sister  would  do 
just  that,  if  they  caught  sight  of  her  before  she  found  and 
claimed  them. 

Or  if  she  held  them  fast,  where  would  she  lead  them? 
What  home  could  they  find  ?  How  would  they  confront  her 
father  when  he  came  back  from  the  simple  white  bleak 
North?  Those  children  to  be — how  could  their  mothers 
be  cruel  to  them?  Yet  how  be  kind?  How  love  them? 
How  hate  them?  What  could  be  done  with  them?  It 
was  a  riddle  the  Sphinx  would  have  envied,  because  nobody 
could  solve  it. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  problem  was  almost  a  madness  for  Dimny.  It 
was  deeper  and  wider  than  the  sea;  it  offered  foot 
hold  nowhere,  there  were  gulfs  of  horror  everywhere.  As 
she  leaned  against  the  rail  the  deck  seemed  to  thrust  her 
forward  into  the  ocean.  The  waves  summoned  her,  de 
manded  her,  one  after  another,  each  charging  the  ship 
and  snarling  as  it  failed.  Yet  always  out  of  the  illimitable 
came  new  waves. 

She  grew  dizzy  and  felt  a  mystic  compulsion  to  fling 
herself  over  and  solve  at  least  her  own  riddle.  Hands 
seemed  to  press  her  shoulders.  A  little  climb,  a  swift  plunge, 
a  gasp,  a  protesting  struggle  for  breath,  a  strangle,  and  then 
profound  peace,  the  cancellation  of  all  the  contradictions 
in  one  final  perfect  cipher. 

She  fell  back  from  the  rail,  whether  in  terror  of  the 
giddiness  or  to  make  ready  for  the  leap.  She  blundered 
into  the  arms  of  Lane  Sperling,  who  had  just  found  her 
and  was  approaching  to  speak  to  her. 

Her  hair  brushed  his  lips,  her  heel  crushed  his  instep, 
his  hands  clutched  her  elbows.  She  whirled  in  amazement 
and  so  strangely  spun  her  round  figure  in  his  eager  arms  that 
he  found  himself  still  clasping  her,  after  his  lips  had  brushed 
her  ear;  and  his  cheek  would  have  touched  her  mouth 
if  she  had  not  flung  back  her  head. 

An  instant  merely  did  he  have  possession  of  her,  before 
both  retreated,  he  mumbling,  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  and 
she,  "  How  you  frightened  me!"  Both  laughed  a  little,  and 
then  found  themselves  leaning  on  the  rail,  staring  in  silence 
at  the  endless  herds  of  billow-buffalo  stampeding  past  the 
ship. 

The  long  search  Sperling  made  for  something  to  say 

92 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

brought  forth  nothing  more  brilliant  than,  "Well,  this  is 
the  last  night  of — this  sort  of  thing." 

That  was  one  of  Sperling's  most  likable  traits.  He  could 
always  be  relied  upon  to  say  nothing  brilliant.  His  re 
marks  were  as  trite  and  true  as  his  soul. 

"So  it  seems,"  said  Dimny,  with  equivalent  brilliance. 

A  great  deal  of  water  went  under  the  captain's  bridge 
before  Sperling  could  wrench  from  his  timidity  the  speech 
he  had  prepared  for  just  such  a  convention.  He  reached  it 
by  painful  degrees. 

"Katherine  used  to  be  a  right  nice  girl,  but  I  don't  know 
what's  got  into  her  lately.  She's  been  an  awful  pill  on  this 
voyage,  hasn't  she?  A  regular  nuisance?" 

Dimny  mumbled,  "  She  has  been  rather  trying  at  times." 

This  assent  encouraged  Sperling  vastly.  He  went  on: 
"She's  had  a  lot  to  say  about — such  a  lot  to  say  about 
my — my — er — about  me  being  crazy  about  you.  She 
hasn't  left  me  a  chance  to  say  it  myself. 

"If  this  were  a  longer  voyage  I  wouldn't  be  saying  it 
now.  But — it  may  be  my  last  chance  to  tell  you  that 
Katherine  told  the  truth  in  spite  of  herself;  for  I  am  as 
crazy  as  a  loon  about  you.  If  the  British  accept  me,  I'll 
not  have  another  chance  to  see  you,  maybe.  But  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I'd  be  glad  to  jump  into  the  drink  there 
to  get  you  any  one  of  those  bubbles  you  might  pick  out, 
if  you  said  the  word.  I'd  do  more.  I'd  stay  out  of  the 
war  for  you. 

"Thousands  of  men  are  marrying  girls  in  a  hurry  and 
rushing  off  to  war.  I  might,  too,  if  I  were  a  Britisher,  but 
it  looks  to  me  like  a  rather  left-handed  compliment  to  a 
girl  to  marry  her  and  run  for  the  trenches. 

"You  see,  I  am  going  into  the  army  for  two  reasons: 
first  because  I  think  that  every  decent  man  on  earth  ought 
to  do  his  damnedest — you  know  what  I  mean — to  break 
the  strangle-hold  the  Kaiser's  got  on  humanity. 

"But  the  second  reason  is — or  was — a  lack  of  anything 
else  to  do.  I've  been  loafing  too  long.  But  if  you've  got 
anything  to  do  that  I  can  help  you  in — why,  that  would  be 
job  enough  to  make  life  worth  living  and  I'd  feel  easy  about 
not  going  to  the  war.  It's  none  of  my  affair,  of  course,  but 

93 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

I  can  see  that  you've  got  something  worrying  you,  and 
if  it's  anything  I  could  do  for  you,  I  wish  to  the  Lord  you'd 
set  me  at  it." 

Dimny  was  mightily  tempted  to  enlist  his  aid,  but  he 
did  not  pause. 

"What  I'm  driving  at  is — I'll  marry  you  if  you'll  let 
me,  but — well — that's  pretty  rough  work  even  for  me — 
but  you  understand  me,  don't  you?  The  love  I've  got 
for  you  is  marrying  love." 

There  was  a  disconcerting  silence  from  the  deep  shadow 
that  she  was.  The  waves  blundering  into  the  ship  thumped 
and  slashed,  but  Dimny  said  nothing.  Part  of  her  mind 
was  trying  to  find  something  kind  and  tactful  to  say,  but 
the  rest  of  her  soul  was  filled  with  a  sudden  feeling  that 
the  brigades  of  gray  breakers  marching  toward  the  ship 
were  made  up  of  German  regiments  with  helmets  glistening 
and  knapsacked  shoulders  huddling  on  and  on  and  on.  She 
remembered  what  her  sister's  letter  had  said  about  the 
vision  of  them  as  they  flowed  past  the  convent  in  Bel 
gium  like  an  eternal  gray  river.  She  shuddered  with  a 
revivified  experience  of  what  had  happened  and  she  heard, 
as  if  from  far  off,  Sperling's  anxious  voice : 

"Are  you  cold?" 

"  No — no,  thanks,"  she  answered. 

"Did  you  hear  what  I  said,  or  would  you  rather  not 
answer?" 

"  Yes — oh  yes,  I  heard,  but  I  don't  know  what  to  answer. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful — 

"Grateful!  Don't  use  the  rotten  word.  It  makes  me 
sick.  I'm  just  selfish.  I'd  like  to  make  you  grateful — 
afterward;  but  I  want  you  to  let  me  love  you  first.  I'm 
dying  now  to  grab  you  in  my  arms,  and  my  heart's  just 
cracking  open  with  longing  for  you,  Dimny." 

In  a  storm  of  exultance  at  having  told  his  love,  he  slid 
a  trembling  arm  about  her — hardly  touching  her. 

She  wanted  not  to  hurt  his  pride,  but  those  Prussian 
waves  kept  marching  forward.  As  far  as  she  could  see,  the 
Prussians  were  coming — no,  they  were  Thuringians;  they 
filled  the  world;  they  trampled  everything;  they  claimed 
the  sea,  the  land.  She  felt  an  arm  tightening  about  her. 

04 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  felt  her  body  turned  in  strong  arms  toward  a  dark 
body,  she  smothered  in  their  power,  and  a  face  bent  closer, 
pallid  beneath  the  visor  of — a  helmet ! 

She  knew  and  yet  did  not  know  that  it  was  only  Lane 
Sperling.  She  appealed  to  him  with  a  weakening  clutch  at 
reason: 

"Don't — don't  make  me  die — don't  let  me  jump  over 
board.  Take  me  away  from  the  rail." 

Stupefied  and  disenchanted,  he  helped  her  to  the  nearest 
deck  chair  and  stood  wondering  which  of  them  had  gone 
mad.  She  was  breathing  frantically,  wringing  her  hands 
and  battling  still  with  something  that  he  could  not  under 
stand.  He  wanted  to  beg  her  pardon  humbly,  but  she 
startled  him  by  saying:  "Forgive  me,  and — and  go  away, 
please.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

He  mumbled:  "I'm  sorry.  Good  night!"  and  walked 
away,  but  he  paused  behind  a  life-boat  and  watched.  He 
saw  her  stretch  herself  out  in  the  chair  and  fold  her  hands 
across  her  bosom  as  one  who  commends  herself  to  sleep 
or  death. 

He  did  not  know  how  nearly  the  same  they  were  to  her, 
or  what  a  conflict  was  going  on  within  her. 

If  Noll  Winsor  had  seen  her  in  that  attitude  he  would 
have  cried  out  in  terror,  feeling  that  she  had  sunk  back 
again  into  that  deathly  stupor.  He  would  have  cried  out 
to  her — and,  indeed,  in  his  absence,  unwittingly  it  was  as 
if  he  did  cry  out,  for  as  she  drifted  backward  through  the 
twilight  toward  the  deep  gloom  she  remembered  the  voice 
that  had  called  to  her  in  Carthage. 

"Dimny!  This  is  Noll  Winsor.  You  must  get  well. 
You  will  succeed.  I  love  you."  His  letter  to  her  had  re 
freshed  the  memory  of  his  old  help.  Those  who  cry  out 
encouragement  to  despondent  humanity  do  not  know  all 
their  reward  nor  all  their  accomplishment.  Their  voices 
ring  on  for  years  and  recur  in  strange  places,  giving  comfort 
to  strange  people  as  trees  planted  do  long  after,  and  songs 
fashioned,  and  helpful  proverbs  carved  in  stout  phrases. 
So  Noll  Winsor's  words  had  a  longer  reach  than  he  knew. 
They  were  about  Dimny  now.  His  voice,  reheard,  re 
plenished  her  courage  once  more. 

95 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Poor  Lane  Sperling,  befuddled  and  humiliated  and 
frightened,  saw,  from  where  he  lurked  in  ambush,  that 
Dimny  gradually  fought  off  the  apparent  onset  of  sleep, 
rose  wearily,  and  groped  along  the  deck  to  the  companion- 
way  and  descended  it  to  her  own  state-room. 

He  lighted  a  number  of  cigarettes,  but  the  wind  whistled 
the  smoke  away  along  with  all  his  theories. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  MERICAN  women  went  to  Paris  once  for  their  fashions, 
f\  and  men  to  London  for  theirs,  assured  that  what 
novel  modes  they  saw  there  would  prevail  in  America  six 
months  later.  But  now  strange  new  fashions  of  costume, 
of  thought,  of  amusement,  grief,  speech,  disease,  distress, 
death,  swept  over  Europe,  cutting  her  off  from  America 
utterly.  Americans  did  not  swarm  abroad  to  import 
these  fashions  ahead  of  time.  Americans  ceased  to  go 
to  Europe  at  all,  except  on  war-business.  And  finding 
Europe  what  it  was,  they  thanked  Heaven,  or  they  re 
gretted,  that  the  United  States  would  not  follow  the  styles 
of  1914.  They  thought  America  immune. 

And  yet  the  old  rule  did  not  fail.  In  London  and  Paris 
could  be  seen  just  what  would  be  seen  in  American  cities 
by  and  by:  race  hatred  as  a  national  emotion,  emptied 
homes,  broken  lives,  hearts  never  free  of  fear,  ambitions 
all  awry,  careers  diverted  and  destroyed,  the  male  populace 
in  uniform  or  explaining  why  not,  the  women  taking  up 
men's  burdens  and  their  own  new  griefs,  the  parks  filled 
with  troops  at  drill  and  wounded  men  become  babies  to  be 
wheeled  about  again ;  the  newspapers  crammed  with  adver 
tisements  of  destruction,  of  deaths,  wounds,  defeats  mini 
mized,  victories  maximized;  everything  askew,  everybody 
ill  of  the  war;  and  yet  withal  a  strange  intoxication  of 
bravery,  a  curious  opiate  in  the  suffering  nerves,  a  gather 
ing  together  of  fellow-countrymen  and  allies,  a  horror  of 
foreigners,  a  suspicion  of  spies  in  all  quarters,  a  prolonged 
panic  that  settles  down  into  the  normal  condition,  an  ex 
alted  hysteria  of  superhuman  endurances,  with  uncontrol 
lable  frenzies  among  some  of  the  faculties  and  a  deep  coma 
among  others,  mankind  vibrating  between  beast  and  angel, 
hyena  and  dove,  the  mob  spirit  at  its  most  divine  aad  at 

97 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

its  most  infernal,  with  humanity  always  above  or  beneath 
its  natural  pitch  and  never  quite  itself. 

Dimny  Parcot  was  to  find  Europe  totally  altered  and 
never  dream  that  she  was  but  looking  on  a  prefiguration  of 
America,  its  emotions  forecasting  our  own  like  fashion- 
plates  seen  long  in  advance  of  publication. 

The  morning  of  the  day  the  Transylvania  was  to  dock 
the  ship  had  a  new  look.  Its  inhabitants  were  awake  to  the 
approach  of  England.  Land  was  visible,  and  the  water 
was  populous  with  vessels,  with  dancing  trawlers,  ferocious 
torpedo-boat  destroyers,  merchant-ships  inbound,  and  out 
bound  ships  riding  low  with  a  red  water-line  revealed.  Two 
cruisers  steamed  slowly  as  if  challenging  trouble,  and  one 
dreadnaught  wallowed  along,  an  iron  volcano  adrift. 

Dimny  met  Lane  Sperling  with  bright  eyes  and  a  humble 
apology,  and  pressed  his  hand  in  a  friendship  that  was  a 
poor  substitute  for  the  love  he  had  hoped  to  win,  yet  re 
assured  him  as  to  her  health  of  mind  and  body  and  took 
his  love  in  tow  again.  Katherine  Devoe  confessed  that 
she  had  been  a  stupid  beast  and  asked  forgiveness. 

She  said  that  unless  Dimny  knew  just  where  her  mother 
would  be,  Dimny  had  better  come  with  her  to  her  brother's 
house  instead  of  going  to  a  hotel  alone — "to  an  h6tel"  she 
corrected  herself,  now  that  they  were  approaching  the 
dictionary  as  well  as  the  soil  of  England. 

Lane  Sperling  also  had  relatives  by  marriage  in  England 
and  proffered  their  hospitality  for  them.  Dimny  declined 
his  gallantry,  but  again  consented  to  be  persuaded  by 
Katherine,  for  she  knew  that  her  mother  and  sister  would 
by  no  means  meet  her.  Katherine  was  delayed  awhile  at 
the  port  because  she  had  brought  over  on  the  ship  with 
her  her  motor-car. 

The  cool  New-Yorkish  hospitality  of  Katherine  had  the 
advantage  of  its  disadvantages.  No  excess  of  concern  led 
her  to  ask  uneasy  questions. 

London,  when  they  reached  it  after  the  landing  and  a 
close  inspection  of  passports  and  baggage,  and  a  fleet  dash 
by  train,  was  nearly  the  London  that  Dimny  had  always 
known.  The  great  train-shed  was  brilliantly  lighted,  for 
the  Zeppelins  had  not  yet  made  their  de"but  from  the 

98 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

clouds;  the  streets  were  not  dim;  eyes  had  not  learned  the 
trick  of  glancing  upward  in  the  expectation  that  the  sky- 
swimmers  might  come  again  and  slaughter  a  few  more 
citizens. 

But  it  was  plain  that  a  war  was  on.  The  fabric  of  the 
throng  was  thickly  interwoven  with  uniforms.  There  were 
women  acting  as  conductors  on  the  blundering  busses. 
Women  were  quietly  replacing  the  men  everywhere.  They 
were  saving  England,  giving  her  suddenly  in  her  need  that 
public  service  that  had  been  refused  as  a  demand.  The 
equality  of  the  sexes  was  democratizing  the  Empire  in  a 
sudden  and  glorious  fashion  by  no  means  painless. 

Women  were  being  shot  forward  a  century  in  a  month. 
They  were  goading  the  men  to  war,  some  offering  white 
feathers  to  slackers,  shaming  the  timid  or  the  slow,  robbing 
them  of  their  last  excuse:  that  they  stayed  at  home  to 
provide  for  their  dependent  women.  The  women  would 
soon  be  not  only  independent,  but  earners  of  better  wages 
than  their  husbands  had  made.  They  were  taking  the 
places  of  the  men  at  home  as  chauffeurs,  gardeners,  clerks, 
secretaries,  waiters.  They  would  soon  be  going  to  the 
front — or  at  least  the  back  of  the  front — as  cooks,  chauf 
feurs,  clerks,  tens  of  thousands  of  them  wearing  the  uni 
form  of  the  Women's  Army  Auxiliary  Corps. 

England  was  proving  herself,  as  Rupert  Brooke  thanked 
God,  matched  with  her  hour.  In  a  splendor  of  devotion  she 
stood  ready  for  all  the  Armadas  of  her  day,  the  Armadas 
that  should  come  down  from  the  heavens  or  come  up  from 
the  sea,  as  well  as  the  fleet  that  lay  hiding  in  Kiel  Canal, 
feeling,  threatening,  sending  out  an  occasional  patrol  to 
bombard  Scarborough  or  some  other  coast  resort  and  kill 
a  few  women  and  children. 

England  had  on  this  occasion  at  least  as  pure  a  con 
science  as  ever  nation  had  in  war.  She  did  not  strike 
first;  she  did  not  strike  at  all  till  small  peoples  were 
marked  for  sacrifice.  The  proof  of  England's  honesty 
was  her  unreadiness.  Her  fleet  was  there,  of  course; 
her  land  army  was  fit  but  few.  She  had  flung  what  she 
had,  rashly  and  splendidly,  into  France.  Her  men  sold 
their  lives  dear  in  the  grim  retreat,  but  they  sold  them 

00 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

out.  And  England  found  herself  practically  destitute  of 
troops  and  at  war  with  the  most  perfect  army  that  ever 
shook  the  earth. 

But  England  kept  redeeming  her  old  follies  and  cruel 
ties  by  new  inspirations  and  decencies.  Her  colonies  came 
back  to  her  with  love.  Her  conquered  races  gave  troops 
to  the  Empire.  The  women  who  had  kept  up  an  uncon 
querable  insurrection  forgot  their  grievances  and  proved 
their  fitness  by  their  deeds.  In  the  munition-factories 
they  faced  harder  work  and  greater  danger  than  the  men 
in  the  trenches.  On  the  farms,  in  the  stables,  in  the  rail 
road  yards,  women  in  filthy  overalls,  with  oil  and  soot 
on  their  faces,  grime  on  their  hands  and  muck  on  their 
big-booted  feet,  would  find  a  strange  new  happiness. 

Dimny  did  not  learn  the  extent  of  this  revolution  at 
once.  Her  first  strong  impression  was  the  personal  one  of 
her  own  reception.  London's  hospitality  struck  her  as 
even  colder  than  New  York's.  When  she  got  inside  the 
crust  she  would  find  it  warm  and  sweet,  but  she  felt  re 
pulsed  and  shut  out  at  first.  When  she  reached  Katherine's 
brother's  house  she  found  it  dismal,  cold,  and  dully  illumi 
nated  within.  There  were  many  people  present,  and  they 
were  discussing  various  problems.  There  had  been  a  revo 
lution  in  conversation  as  in  everything  else. 

Katherine's  brother  was  away.  Her  English  sister-in- 
law  said,  "Why,  hello,  Katherine!"  without  rising  from  her 
chair.  She  put  up  a  cheek  to  be  kissed  instead  of  her  lips 
to  kiss.  She  greeted  Katherine's  arrival  from  the  ocean 
with  cordiality  as  devoid  of  excitement  as  if  Katherine 
had  just  come  in  from  the  garden. 

When  Dimny  was  introduced,  Mrs.  Devoe  did  not  rise, 
did  not  cry  her  welcome,  did  not  even  introduce  Dimny  to 
any  of  the  other  guests;  nor  did  they  stop  talking.  All  the 
women,  old  and  young,  were  smoking.  The  servants  were 
taking  care  of  the  luggage.  The  intention  was  to  make 
the  guests  feel  that  they  had  caused  no  inconvenience. 
That  was  a  greater  tribute  in  England  than  Dimny  under 
stood.  Mrs.  Devoe  was  beautifully  English  —  what 
Katherine  called  "Burnt  Jones."  She  wore  a  most  becom 
ing  black.  She  said: 

100 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"  Your  old  room  is  ready,  Katherine,  and  Miss  Parcot  is 
next  to  you.  Will  you  have  something  to  eat ?  No?  The 
cigarettes  are  back  of  you.  Mrs.  Manby  was  just  telling 
the  drollest  experience  she  had  as  a  charwoman  and  the 
withering  contempt  of  a  real  charwoman.  Do  go  on,  dear 
Mrs.  Manby." 

Dimny  and  Katherine  went  to  their  rooms  and  freshened 
up  a  bit.  Dimny's  room  was  bitter  cold,  even  colder  than 
the  drawing-room.  Steam  heat  was  one  of  the  American 
vices  that  had  not  yet  invaded  this  home.  When  Dimny 
returned  to  the  cold,  cold  drawing-room,  she  was  received 
with  polite  tolerance. 

Dimny  dropped  into  a  chair,  as  near  the  fireplace  as  she 
could  get,  and  felt  cruelly  ignored  and  nullified,  as  Ameri 
cans  usually  do  at  first  in  England  till  they  learn  the 
language.  By  and  by  a  young  man  who  had  come  in 
while  she  was  in  her  room  began  to  talk  to  her  without 
revealing  any  curiosity  as  to  her  name  or  any  boastfulness 
as  to  his  own.  Their  common  presence  in  Mrs.  Devoe's 
drawing-room  was  evidently  supposed  to  vouch  for  both 
of  them. 

But  Dimny  was  timid,  and  she  found  nothing  to  talk 
of,  since  he  did  not  ask  about  her  nor  tell  about  him 
self.  She  had  not  expected  him  to  speak.  His  accent 
(everybody  has  an  accent)  seemed  very  broad  in  her  ear, 
as  hers  in  his  when  he  heard  it. 

"You're  just  ovah  from  the  States,  I  expect,"  he  said. 

Dimny  was  startled;   she  nodded  slightly. 

He  went  on:  "Is  it  true  that  your  government  is  goin' 
to  stand  off  and  look  on  while  Belgium  and  Frahnce  perish, 
and  old  Blighty — I  mean  to  say  the  old  mothah-country — 
goes  to  pot?  And  nevah  make  so  much  of  a  protest  to 
Germany  as  an  'Oh,  I  say  now!'  What?" 

"  I  reckon  so.  It  looks  so,"  Dimny  murmured,  feeling  as 
if  she  were  responsible  for  the  inaction. 

"But  tell  me — you  don't  mind  my  bein'  so  brutally 
frank,  do  you? — tell  me,  does  nobody  ovah  thuh  realize 
that  your  country  is  the — ah — next  numbah  on  the  pro 
gram?" 

"A  few  of  us,"  sighed  Dimny;  "only  a  few  of  us." 

101 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Do  you  know  I  call  that  too  bad.  I  am  afraid  that 
deah  old  Uncle  Sam  is  what  we  should  call  a — if  you'll 
pahdon  me — a  slackah.  I  fear  we  shall  have  to  present  him 
with  the — ah — white  feathah.  Reahlly!" 

Dimny  could  not  answer  this  both  with  patriotism  and 
with  conviction.  He  saw  her  plight. 

"Mind  you,  I'm  not  ahskin*  you  to  admit  it.  If  I  ware 
a  Yankee,  I  should  jolly  well  slap  myself  in  the  face  if  I 
insulted  my  country,  but  nevahtheless — if  you  know  what 
I  mean — well,  it's  a  pity,  isn't  it?  You  know  what  I  mean. 

"It's  most  unpleasant  fighting  the  boche.  He's  clevah, 
no  end,  but  such  a  hopeless  rottah.  And  he  compels  us  to 
follow  him.  I  happened  to  be  at  the  fust  little  surprise- 
pahty.  That's  why  I'm  heah.  I  fancy  you  ware  wonder 
ing  why  such  a  hulkin'  brute  as  I  look  should  be  sittin' 
heah  in  Helen's  drawing-room  attacking  a  paw  gel  from 
ovah  the  watah  instead  of  annoyin'  the  boche  in  Frahnce. 
But  you  see,  I  chahnced  to  be  one  of  the  unfawtunate  mem- 
bahs  of  the  Expedition'ry  Fawce.  Yes,  I  was  with  Haig — 
S' Douglas,  you  know — the  Fust  Kaw,  at  Mons  and  all  the 
way  back,  if  you'll  pahdon  my  buckin'  about  myself." 

There  are  great  defeats  that  nations  cherish  with  almost 
more  pride  than  their  victories.  The  calamity  at  Mons 
will  always  be  spoken  of  with  haughtiness  by  the  English. 

Dimny  was  keenly  interested  in  meeting  any  one  who 
had  actually  opposed  his  own  force  to  the  German  on 
rush.  "Oh,  do  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  cried,  "if  you 
don't  mind." 

"Mind?  God  bless  my  soul,  I'd  love  it.  I  cahn't  get 
anybody  else  to  listen.  Those  who  haven't  gone  out  are 
talkin'  about  what  they'll  do  when  they  do,  and  so  many 
of  us  have  come  back — and  so  many  of  us  didn't — you 
know  what  I  mean — paw  fellahs!  And  the  newspapahs 
have  described  it  all  so  much  bettah  than  we  can — they 
haven't  been — ah — hampah'd  by  the  little  details,  you 
know.  And  I'm  no  Kiplin',  you  know,  but  if  you're  quite 
shaw  I  shahn't  baw  you — " 

"I'd  love  it,"  said  Dimny.     "Please!" 

He  told  the  truth  when  he  said  that  he  was  no  Kipling. 
Some  men  have  the  gift  of  incurring  adventure  and  some  of 

102 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

describing  it.     Dimny's  anonymous  hero  was  of  the  former 
sort. 

"I  was  with  the  Fust  Kaw  of  the  Expedition'ry  Fawce, 
if  you  know  what  I  mean.  They  picked  us  up  and  tossed 
us  ovah  to  Frahnce  as  a  kind  of  sop  to  the  German  mon- 
stah.  It  was  at  Mons — stupid  little  spot — that  the  blight- 
ahs — if  you'll  pahdon  me — smashed  us  fust.  Most  of  my 
little  commahnd  ware  swimmin'  in  a  canal.  They  needed 
the  bahth,  Heaven  knows.  The  Uhlans  came  from  no- 
wheah  and  made  excellent  pig-stickin'  of  us  for  a  time,  but 
my  men  fought  in  the — ah — altogethah,  if  you  know  what 
I  mean.  We  held  'em  Saturday,  and  all  night  Sunday. 
Then  there  was  nothin'  for  it  but  we  must  cut.  So  we  made 
off  to  the  south  at  toppin'  speed.  We  stopped  when  we 
ware  out  of  wind,  and  when  they  caught  us  up,  we  showed 
them  a  pretty  fight.  But  they  outnumbah'd  us  three  to 
one,  and  soon  they  hoicked  us  out  of  theah,  and  we  made 
off  again.  We  got  in  a  hundred  miles  of  fight-all-day-and- 
run-all-night. 

"We  mahched  back  through  the  Forest  of  Mormal — 
doleful  old  woods,  too — and  rested  at  Landrecies.  We 
lay  on  ouah  faces  in  the  streets  in  the  rain  at  night  and 
fought  by  the  light  of  burnin'  buildin's.  We  mopped  up 
the  boches,  but  there  was  no  end  to  them,  and  away  we 
went  again,  tryin'  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  French.  Back 
we  went  to  the  Aisne  Rivah — then  to  the  Marne ;  for  thut- 
teen  days  we  fell  back  and  back. 

"Just  once,  towahd  the  lahst,  just  befaw  old  General 
Joffre  gave  the  awda  to  cease  runnin'  and  go  fawwahd,  I 
saw  a  bit  of  funk.  My  platoon  was  the  reah-guahd  of  the 
reah-guahd,  and  I  had  gone  back  a  bit  to  pick  out  ouah 
next  position.  The  woods  opened — it  rained  Germans  from 
all  sides.  I  saw  the  line  wavah.  One  or  two  blightahs 
dropped  their  rifles  and  ran  like  rabbits.  The  reah-guahd 
can  newah  hope  for  reinfawcements,  of  cawse,  and  it  is 
hahdish  work  not  to  retreat  a  little  fastah  than  necess'ry. 
But  I  was  in  a  wax  at  my  men,  let  me  tell  you.  I  dahted 
fawwahd,  yelling,  '  Oh,  I  say,  my  lads,  this  will  nevah  do, 
you  know,  nevah.' 

"One  of  the  men  said,  'I  was  just  'oppin'  back,  seh,  foj 

103 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

a  bit  of  a  runnin'  stawt,  strike  me  if  I  wasn't,  seh.'  And 
he  ran  in,  caught  up  a  dead  man's  rifle  and  stuck  it  into 
three  boches  in  rapid  succession  just  befaw  three  othah 
bodies  potted  him.  I  was  on  the  point  of  shoutin'  'Well 
bowled,  old  thing!'  when  the  bullet  that  had  been  booked 
for  me  found  its  billet,  and  I  shouted  '  Blub-blub '  or  wuds 
to  that  effect  and  went  rollin'  ovah  and  ovah  like  a  silly 
plovah  caught  on  the  rise.  That  ended  my  fightin'." 

"I'm  so  sorry  for  you,"  Dimny  sighed. 

"For  me?  You're  not  havin'  me  on,  are  you?"  he 
gasped.  "  Oh,  I  say,  that  is  decent  of  you;  but  really,  I've 
no  right  to  it,  you  know.  I'm  heah — in  toppin'  fawm — 
happy — and  almost  outside  my  wound.  On  my  soul,  I 
don't  know  why  I'm  tellin'  you  all  this,  except  that  I've 
not  been  quite  right  since — I've  told  everybody  else 
till  they  all  flee  at  the  sight  of  me.  But  it's  my  fust  waw, 
you  know,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  learn  to  be  maw  quiet 
when  I  have  maw  int'restin'  things  to  tell." 

"You're  not  going  back?"  Dimny  cried. 

"Do  you  think  I'll  stop  at  home?  Likely!  But  they'll 
doubtless  have  somethin*  new  by  now,  and  we  shall  have 
to  toddle  after  them. 

"It's  the  fust  time  London  evah  took  her  fashion-plates 
from  Berlin.  We  shall  have  to  take  so  much  from  Berlin 
till  we  get  ready  to  give  them  what-faw.  We  have  to  make 
rifles  and  cahtridges,  guns,  shells,  bayonets,  grenades, 
trucks — everything — and  learn  the  A  B  C's  while  they 
show  us  the  X  Y  Zeds. 

"  Fawtunately,  Uncle  Sam  has  consented  to  sell  us  what 
he  can  make.  That  will  help.  And  one  day  the  boches  will 
drive  him  in  in  spite  of  himself.  It's  going  to  cost  the 
wahld  a  pretty  bill,  but  we  cahn't  affawd  to  pay  what  the 
boches  ahsk.  We  really  cahn't  affawd  that." 

In  the  prolonged  silence  that  followed  the  Englishman's 
outburst,  Dimny  overheard  phrases  from  other  groups. 
She  had  observed  near  her  two  elderly  women  of  an  ap 
palling  aristocracy  of  manner  in  spite  of,  or  because  of,  the 
Gothic  shoulder-blades  obtruding  from  their  black  gowns. 
They  were  discussing  atrocities.  She  heard  one  of  them 
saying: 

104 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"The  worst  things  can't  be  told  or  printed,  of  course. 
The  victims  of  the  worst  outrages  naturally  do  all  they  can 
to  keep  them  secret.  But  things  leak  out.  I  was  talking 
yesterday  to  Lettice  Staight — you  know  her?  Sweet  girl — 
her  husband  was  killed.  She  can't  get  his  body  back,  poor 
thing;  she  thought  she  would  go  mad  without  something 
to  do.  What  do  you  suppose  she  has  taken  up,  or  have 
you  heard?" 

"I  think  not." 

"She  is  a  Catholic,  you  know — one  of  the  old  families. 
And  she  has  turned  her  beautiful  house  to  the  oddest  use." 

The  man  asked  Dimny  if  he  could  fetch  her  a  cup  of 
tea  or  a  whisky-and-soda.  She  shook  her  head  and  heard 
the  elderly  woman  going  on: 

"She  has  eight  nuns  and  novices  as  her  guests  and 
patients,  all  of  them,  my  dear —  Bend  a  little  closer." 

Dimny  could  not  hear.  But  she  heard  the  other  woman 
give  a  little  cry ;  then  the  speaker  went  on : 

"Horrible,  isn't  it?  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  whatever  can 
the  poor  things  do  with  the  children  when  they  arrive? 
They'd  be  Germans,  wouldn't  they?  How  could  even  a 
mother's  love  overcome  that  fact?" 

Dimny  could  hear  no  more,  for  the  young  man,  either 
because  he  had  not  heard,  or  because  he  had  began  to 
talk  again. 

8 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BUT  Dimny  did  not  listen.  She  was  thinking  hard. 
The  elderly  woman  had  spoken  of  some  one  who 
nursed  Belgian  nuns  and  novices.  Some  of  these  might 
have  been  at  the  very  convent  where  Dimny's  own  mother 
and  sister  had  been. 

Of  course,  it  was  improbable  that  such  good  fortune 
should  come  to  meet  her  on  her  first  night  in  England,  but 
she  might  at  least  get  some  clue,  some  help.  Anything  at 
all  that  she  could  learn  would  be  of  help,  for  she  knew 
nothing,  nor  how  to  set  about  finding  out  anything. 

She  lacked  the  courage  to  address  the  old  lady — her  mien 
was  rather  terrifying — till  at  length  she  rose  to  leave.  The 
man  rose,  too.  Dimny  checked  him  with  a  word,  and  he 
bent  low  from  his  great  height  to  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  could  you  tell  me  who  the — the 
elderly  woman  is  over  there?" 

"Which?     I  see  two." 

"The  old  one  that  looks  like  an  eagle." 

"Oh,  that's  Mothah." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean — " 

"Don't  apologize.  I'm  shaw  she'd  rahthah  resemble  an 
eagle  than  any  othah  bahd." 

"I — I  wanted  to  ask  her  something." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"I'm  afraid.     I've  never  met  her." 

"She's  not  hahf  so  haughty  as  she  looks.  Come  along. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  hah.  Oh,  Mothah — I  want  to  present 
Miss — ah — Miss — ' ' 

"Miss  Parcot." 

"Miss  Parcot,"  he  echoed.  "She's  stoppin'  with  Helen. 
She's  Amirrican,  of  cawse." 

"  I  could  tell  that  by  your  excellent  clothes,  Miss  Parcot." 

1 06 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Rather  gracious  for  the  eagle !  She  went  on:  "I'll  see  you 
anothah  time,  I  hope.  You  must  come  to  me  with  Helen 
one  day.  Good  night." 

"  I — "  Dimny  had  not  even  yet  learned  her  name  or  her 
son's.  "May  I  ask  you  an  impertinent  question?" 

"It's  not  likely  you  could.     But  please — " 

"I  couldn't  help  overhearing  you  speak  of  the — the  poor 
widow — I  didn't  catch  her  name — you  said  she  was  caring 
for  some  Belgians." 

"I  fancy  you  mean  Mrs.  Staight." 

"Yes.  I — I  hardly  know  how  to  put  it,  but  I — I'm 
awfully  anxious  to  meet  those  Belgians.  They — I — I'm 
going  to  Belgium." 

' '  Indeed !     But  will  you  be  let  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  passport  from  our  Secretary  of  State.  He 
especially  mentions  Belgium." 

"The  Secret'ry  of  State,  indeed!  How  very  interesting! 
You  are  quite  sure  they  will  pass  you?" 

"  Nothing  can  stop  me." 

"I  wonder — " 

She  turned  to  the  other  woman. 

"Oh,  I  say,  my  dear,  would  you  mind?  Miss  Parcot — 
is  that  it  ? — Miss  Parcot  tells  me  she  is  going  into  Belgium, 
and  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  she  could  be  of  assist 
ance  in  getting  word  to  your  poor  daughter.  Mrs.  Curfey 
has  a  child  astray  over  there." 

The  other  woman's  face  lost  its  hardness;  or  rather,  a 
sudden  relaxation  showed  that  it  was  due,  as  hardness 
usually  is,  to  a  grim  effort  not  to  break  under  burdens.  She 
cried: 

"Oh,  if  you  could!  If  only  you  could!  My  daughter — 
I  left  her  in  a  convent  there,  you  know;  and  I  can  get  no 
word  from  her — not  a  word.  She's  English,  of  course,  and 
the  German  beasts  won't  let  her  go,  or  even  communicate 
with  us.  They  are  afraid  she  has  seen  too  much,  I  expect; 
and  I'm  so  afraid  of  what  she  has  seen.  Such  a  number  of 
English  mothers  are  unable  to  learn  of  their  daughters.  We 
have  a  committee.  We  poor  mothers  seem  to  be  able  to  do 
nothing  but  form  committees.  I  belong  to  a  dozen,  and 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  they  are  all  about.  But  one  of 

107 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

them  is  trying  to  get  word  of  the  lost  girls.  We  have  the 
names  of  eighty-six,  utterly  lost.  My  child,  poor  Ethel, 
was  coming  home  for  Christmas;  the  last  letter  I  had  was 
written  the  first  day  of  August — she  was  already  at  work 
on  her  Christmas  gift  for  me,  never  dreaming  of  what  was 
in  store  for  us.  And  now  this  frightful,  frightful  thing! 
However  can  we  bear  it?" 

The  poor  woman  had  nearly  lost  her  self-control.  She 
was  more  mother  than  Englishwoman,  but  she  did  not  know 
how  to  let  herself  go.  Dimny  was  beginning  to  perceive 
something  of  the  enormity  of  the  war — its  incalculably 
cruel  devastation.  She  was  just  touching  the  farthest 
fringe  of  it. 

"But,"  Mrs.  Curfey  was  saying,  "your  entry  into 
Belgium — how  do  you  dare  attempt  it?" 

"I  must,"  Dimny  sighed,  letting  her  secret  go  under  the 
compulsion  of  the  moment.  "  My  mother  and  my  sister  are 
there,  too." 

" Dimny!"  Katherine  cried.     "You  never  told  me!" 

"I've  been  afraid  to  speak  of  it.  I  didn't  mean  to, 
but—" 

Katherine  expressed  what  words  could  not  say,  in  a  fierce 
embrace  of  pity.  Both  of  the  elderly  women  looked  the 
sympathy  they  could  not  voice.  Helen  Devoe  drew  nearer. 
The  eagle  lady  said: 

"My  son  himself  shall  take  you  to  Mrs.  Staight — to 
morrow,  if  you  wish.  And  after,  if  you  will  be  so  good,  do 
let  us  tell  you  the  names  of  a  few  of  these  girls.  If  we 
could  know  even  that  they  are  alive,  that  would  be  some- 
tfying,  wouldn't  it  ?  There  are  many  German  girls  here,  too ; 
perhaps  we  could  offer  them  in  exchange;  their  parents 
must  be  as  frantic  as  we  are,  though  it  seems  hard  to  credit 
the  Germans  with  ordinary  humanity.  Still,  even  the 
fiercest  animals  love  their  own  young,  don't  they?  But 
you  are  so  young  yourself,  my  dear;  I  am  afraid  you  are 
taking  on  a  task  that  would  daunt  a  far  older  woman." 

Her  son  spoke  in :  "No  fear!  She'll  do  the  trick.  Bein' 
young  is  better  than  knowin'  too  much.  Miss  Parcot  can 
stand  anything — she  heard  my  whole  story  out,  and  never 
winced  once." 

1 08 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  was  inside  the  crust  now,  and  there  was  no  ques 
tion  of  the  warmth.  It  embarrassed  her  to  be  so  besought. 
When  good-nights  were  exchanged,  and  the  guests  had 
left,  Helen  treated  Dimny  with  a  new  respect.  Dimny, 
however,  was  curious: 

"But  who  are  they?  Their  names?  I  heard  Mrs.  Cur- 
fey 's — but  the  others?"  She  rather  expected  to  be  told 
that  the  eagle  was  the  countess  of  something  or  other, 
and  the  young  man  whatever  the  son  of  a  countess 
would  be.  To  Americans,  England  is  inhabited  exclu> 
sively  by  coronets  and  cockneys.  But  Helen  gave  them 
plain  names: 

"That  was  Mrs.  Roantree  and  her  son,  Leftenant  Gil 
bert  Roantree.  Mrs.  Curfey,  whose  daughter  is  lost,  has 
had  two  boys  in  the  army — trying  to  get  into  Belgium  by 
fighting.  One  of  them  was  killed  alongside  Gilbert  Roan 
tree." 

"Killed?"  Dimny  sighed.  This  was  her  first  encounter 
with  death  in  the  war.  She  protested : 

"But  Mrs.  Curfey  wasn't  in  mourning." 

"It's  not  being  worn  outside  the  house.  We've  nearly 
all  lost  somebody.  My  Cousin  John — my  beautiful  Cousin 
John — blind — blind !  And  my  brother  dead. ' ' 

She  fell  forward,  weeping. 

Dimny  caught  her  in  her  arms. 

Helen  wrenched  free  and  paced  the  floor  in  a  curious 
rage,  striking  the  tears  from  her  cheeks  viciously.  She 
caught  a  cigarette,  lighted  it,  and  smoked  in  short  puffs 
like  an  angry  man.  She  was  enraged  at  the  ancient  weak 
ness,  the  overbubbling  grief  that  she  could  not  master. 

"Damn  these  rotten  tears!"  she  groaned,  beating  her 
palms  together,  clutching  at  her  throat,  and  swallowing 
back  the  sobs  that  pounded  there.  She  had  been  a  good 
sportswoman,  raised  like  a  boy;  she  had  fought  stubborn 
horses  across  walls  and  water-jumps  they  were  afraid  of. 
She  had  fought  for  the  vote  the  same  way. 

And  now  that  Death  struck  his  bony  hand  among  her 
heartstrings,  she  hated  to  weep. 

Dimny  watched  Helen's  combat  with  nature,  and  wept 
for  her.  Helen  saw  her,  and  patted  her  shaken  shoulders 

109 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

awkwardly,  but  still  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  stran 
gling  and  muttering : 

"My  brother  was  man  enough  to  die,  and  Johnny  gave 
his  eyes.  The  men  can  give  themselves.  But  we  fool 
women — why  won't  they  let  me  go  fight?  I  can  shoot; 
I  can  ride.  I  want  to  kill  somebody.  I  want  to  kill  the 
enemies  of  England!" 

It  is  a  wonderful  cry,  "England!"  when  they  lift  their 
voices  to  it. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  soldier,  and  fight,  but  I  stay  at  home  and 
knit  and  make  bandages  and  cry  like  a  b-b-bleeding  baby." 

Dimny  did  not  understand  what  blasphemy  was  in  that 
epithet.  It  meant  nothing  much  to  her,  but  to  Helen  it 
was  an  outburst  of  that  frenzy  in  which  nice,  clean  people 
are  so  driven  out  of  themselves  that  they  go  back  to  child 
hood  and  grope  in  the  dirt  for  something  foul  enough  to 
throw  at  the  bullying  fates. 

Being  a  lady  hurled  back  into  common  humanity, 
Helen  felt  properly  ashamed  of  herself,  and  that  perfected 
her  misery. 

"Good  night!"  she  said,  and  was  gone. 

Katherine  had  also  lost  the  gentle  art  of  weeping  grace 
fully.  She  stood  ill  at  ease,  suffering  in  awkwardness.  She 
filled  herself  a  long  glass  of  whisky  and  soda,  offered  one 
in  pantomime  to  Dimny,  and  when  she  shook  her  head, 
tried  to  gulp  a  sob  in  a  yawn  and  said : 

"God-awful,  isn't  it?" 

Dimny  nodded,  and  they  went  slowly  up  the  long  stairs. 
Katherine  lingered  a  moment  at  Dimny 's  door,  trying  to 
find  something  to  say,  then  kissed  her  good  night  and  went 
on  to  her  room. 

Dimny  closed  her  door  and  felt  herself  but  an  atom  of 
woe  in  a  universe  of  swirling  wretchedness.  In  the  room 
were  portraits  of  soldiers  and  sailors,  and  of  athletes,  pic 
tures  of  a  castle  or  two,  and  flags. 

Suddenly  she  felt  how  preoccupied  all  England  must  be 
with  the  problem  of  its  own  existence.  That  ancient  heri 
tage,  the  British  Empire,  was  facing  the  greatest  emergency 
of  its  career.  Its  glory  or  its  doom  rested  on  the  shoulders 

no 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

of  these  men  and  women.  They  were  laying  aside  their 
customs  and  flinging  away  their  lives,  all  solemnly  resolved 
not  to  let  Great  Britain  fail. 

On  Dimny's  table  were  two  or  three  illustrated  weeklies. 
There  were  comic  pictures  by  those  ministering  angels,  the 
bright  brave  souls  who  could  find  laughter  in  this  tragedy, 
the  modern  wearers  of  the  cap  and  bells — Bairnsfather, 
Heath  Robinson,  the  Punch  galaxy  never  so  witty,  so 
calmly  droll,  as  now.  England  like  another  King  Lear 
needed  devoted,  beloved  Shakespearean  fools,  and  they  were 
busy  and  brave  and  blithe  for  England's  sake. 

But  the  pages  that  gripped  Dimny  most  were  the  pages 
called  "The  Roll  of  Honour."  They  were  like  windows 
crowded  with  eager  faces  of  the  dead.  Youth  and  grizzled 
age  were  here,  subalterns  and  generals,  commoners  from  the 
provinces  and  noblemen  of  ancient  names. 

All  looked  forth  uncannily  alive  and  were  recorded  as 
dead.  There  were  Brig.-Gen.  Sir  J.  E.  Swinnerton,  C.  B. 
C.  M.  G.  D.  S.  O.;  and  Lieut,  the  Hon.  Lethbridge  Mars- 
land;  Lieut.-Col.  G.  Arthur  Nicolls-Platt,  V.  C.;  Capt.  W. 
G.  S.  Beart,  M.  C.;  and  plain  Major  William  Smith,  and 
many,  many  another. 

It  was  unbearable  that  they  should  have  died  so  nobly, 
so  needlessly.  Dimny's  imagination  saw  their  wrecked, 
mangled  forms,  their  bright  faces  distorted  with  wounds 
and  anguish.  Yet  these  were  but  the  selected  dead.  For 
each  of  these  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  less  conspicuous 
men  had  fallen.  The  hospitals  were  packed  with  the 
wounded. 

All  of  them  had  families,  somebody  to  mourn  and  mul 
tiply  their  loss,  somebody  to  fight  tears  and  deny  the  poor 
comfort  of  crape  for  their  sakes.  Indeed,  there  were  on 
other  pages  the  grievous  images  of  widows,  many  of  them 
pictured  as  veiled  brides,  smiling,  many  of  them  with 
children  about  them. 

They  smiled,  too,  for  life  had  been  zestful  to  them  then; 
they  had  not  dreamed,  when  they  posed,  that  they  would 
be  published  as  widows.  There  were  widows  everywhere, 
and  it  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  prelude. 

Somehow  these  pictures  gave  Dimny  a  keener  feeling  of 

in 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

the  waste  of  the  war  than  all  the  statistics,  the  head-lines 
or  editorials.  War  was  taking  busy  men  from  their  homes 
and  their  usefulness  and  actually  slaughtering  them.  War 
was  unwearyingly  turning  warm-bodied,  fruitful,  laughter- 
loving  women  into  cold,  frustrated,  lonely-nighted  widows. 
It  was  a  devil's  mill  for  grinding  men  and  women  into 
corpses  and  relicts. 

Innumerable  people  were  crying,  reaching  out  empty  arms 
to  fate  and  begging  it  to  give  back  their  loves.  How  happy 
the  world  had  been  before  the  war,  and  how  little  aware 
of  its  felicity !  How  wretched  the  world  was  now,  and  how 
well  aware  of  that. 

Dimny  put  away  the  periodicals  with  a  moan: 

"Oh  dear — oh  dear!    the  poor  people!" 

In  a  flood  of  pity  for  all  the  bereaved  she  began  to  cry 
again.  She  was  sorry  for  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AT  ten  the  next  morning  Captain  Roantree  was  an 
nounced.  He  was  in  uniform  again,  the  business-like 
new  British  uniform  with  its  low-rolling  lapels,  its  soft 
collar,  its  pockets  as  capacious  as  knapsacks  and  the  Sam 
Browne  belt  over  all. 

Dimny  felt  a  little  nervous  at  first  about  being  alone 
with  him,  when  they  set  forth  in  his  motor-car,  but  she 
told  herself  that  she  would  have  many  strange  men  to 
meet  in  many  strange  places  before  her  quest  was  ended. 
Everybody  in  the  house  had  some  war-work  ahead,  and 
it  was  no  time  for  girls  to  expect  chaperons. 

She  began  to  realize  how  rash  she  was  to  add  new  com 
missions  to  her  task.  She  was  to  find,  and  restore  to  their 
parents,  other  girls — she  that  could  hardly  cope  with  the 
problem  of  finding  her  own  people.  It  was  an  effort  at 
solution  by  multiplication.  Yet  she  was  glad,  in  a  way, 
because  she  would  have  a  mission  at  last  that  she  could 
declare  openly  while  she  concealed  her  true  errand  in 
Europe. 

They  spun  through  Hyde  Park,  populous  now  with 
wounded  men,  and  soldiers  on  leave.  The  old  splendor 
of  the  Hyde  Park  parade  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was 
something  far  more  splendid.  The  misty  pallor  gave  an 
unearthly  light  to  the  pageant.  The  once  ubiquitous  top- 
hat  was  hardly  to  be  seen.  A  military  or  a  naval  cap 
adorned  nearly  every  head.  On  the  paths  wounded  men, 
instead  of  babies,  were  wheeled  in  perambulators;  others 
went  crutch  wise.  Ladies  of  evident  position  no  longer 
lolled  in  victorias  behind  high-pulpited  coachmen  and  foot 
men  with  folded  arms ;  folded  arms  were  not  being  worn  in 
England.  Ladies  were  steering  their  own  motors,  and  their 
motors  were  filled  with  bandaged  soldiers,  strange  guests 

"3 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

whose  letters  of  introduction  were  red  wounds.  Yet 
laughter  was  brave  on  all  sides,  and  flirtations  of  a  sort  were 
in  negotiation  everywhere,  and  on  the  meadows  lines  of 
volunteers  drilled  in  mufti.  The  air  was  filled  with  war. 

Mrs.  Staight's  home  was  in  the  outskirts  of  the  shape 
less,  sprawling  town.  She  dwelt  on  one  of  the  score  of 
High  streets  in  London.  Walls  surrounded  the  house,  and 
only  the  tree-tops  peering  over  gave  a  hint  of  hidden 
gardens.  It  was  city  outside  and  country  within. 

There  was  a  bell  in  the  gate,  and  its  remote  tinkle  fetched 
a  maid  across  a  lawn,  still  green  in  the  English  midwinter. 
The  maid  admitted  them  and  went  to  fetch  her  mistress. 

Roantree  made  the  introductions  and  announced  that  he 
would  wait  outside  in  the  car.  It  was  no  place  for  a  man. 

Dimny  stated  the  case  of  the  missing  school-girls  and 
her  desire  to  learn  something  of  what  she  would  find  in 
Belgium. 

Mrs.  Staight  went  out  and  returned,  a  sorrowing 
shepherdess  with  the  saddest  of  flocks. 

The  women  had  a  racial  resemblance,  but  otherwise  they 
were  of  various  types,  tall,  small,  lean,  plump,  stolid, 
feverish.  Yet  they  had  all  endured  the  same  experiences. 

These  girls,  whom  their  parents  had  put  away  behind 
walls  among  white-robed  priestesses  in  order  that  they 
might  escape  the  corruptions  of  every-day  life,  had  been 
trapped  in  their  refuge  and  smothered  in  a  cataclysm  of 
beastliness.  They  had  endured  what  the  nuns  of  Rome 
endured  almost  four  hundred  years  before,  when  Rome  was 
sacked — by  German  soldiers  then  as  now  in  what  Sismondi 
called  "the  first  triumph  of  barbarism  over  civilization." 
And  then  as  now  the  English  and  the  French  were  driven 
from  their  ancient  feud  into  an  alliance  against  Teutonic 
ruthlessness. 

Like  the  helpless  victims  of  unearned  deformity,  these 
young  women  from  Belgium  slunk  into  the  room,  where 
Dimny  studied  them  with  pity  and  terror.  In  their  eyes 
strange  visions  lurked.  About  them  was  a  pall  of  tragedy. 
And  yet  they  were  already  used  to  their  fate  and  ready 
for  their  future.  All  of  them  carried  things  to  sew,  and 
their  deft  Belgian  fingers,  habited  to  making  lace,  were 

114 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

making  tiny  wardrobes  as  young  wives  do  when  love  has 
brought  them  into  the  fold  of  wedlock.  Cruelty  had  been 
fantastic  and  tangled  with  them,  and  they  were  benumbed 
with  the  hopelessness  of  their  lives. 

Dimny  felt  it  brutal  even  to  question  them,  but  she 
could  not  go  without  asking  some  news.  Most  of  the 
women  had  learned  a  bit  of  English  during  their  exile. 
They  spoke  it  with  varied  accent  according  as  they  were  of 
Walloon  or  Flemish  stock. 

When  Mrs.  Staight  had  explained  Dimny's  errand 
briefly,  Dimny  asked : 

"Were  you  by  any  chance  at  the  convent  in  Dofnay?" 

The  women  exchanged  questioning  glances;  then  one  of 
them  asked: 

' '  Convent  ?    Ve  do  nut  onnerstan'  pretty  good  Angleesh !" 

Dimny  rewrought  it  in  her  French: 

"  Est-ce  que  vous  avez  ete  au  convent  de  Dofnay?" 

Half  of  them  understood  this.     They  shook  their  heads. 

" Non,  mademoiselle." 

Dimny  thought  that  perhaps  they  might  have  met  her 
mother  and  sister,  none  the  less.  She  asked  if  they  had 
known,  by  any  chance,  a  Mrs.  Parcot.  One  answered 
for  all: 

"Non,  je  ne  la  connais  pas.  I  do  not  know  somebody 
of  zose  name." 

Dimny  had  thought  of  Belgium  as  a  little  realm  where 
everybody  would  know  everybody.  She  was  to  learn  how 
large  the  littlest  nation  is  when  misery  invades  it.  More 
than  fifty  thousand  homes  had  been  destroyed  in  Belgium, 
towns  and  villages  by  the  hundred,  farmsteads  beyond 
reckoning  or  recognition;  and  the  devastation  had  only 
begun. 

Dimny  gained  little  from  her  visit  to  this  hiding-place 
except  a  hope  that  her  mother  and  sister  might  be  meeting 
their  kindred  lot  with  a  like  bravery. 

Mrs.  Staight  told  her  something  of  the  multitudes  of 
Belgians  similarly  scattered  among  families  in  the  cities  and 
the  countryside.  Already  myriads  on  myriads  of  them  had 
arrived;  and  still  they  came  and  would  come  in  every  sort 
of  boat  and  barge  until  the  summer  should  find  in  England 

US 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

two  hundred  and  sixty-five  thousand  Belgian  fugitives  and 
forty  thousand  wounded  Belgian  soldiers.  The  place  of 
greatest  resort  was  the  clearing  station  at  Earl's  Court 
where  the  immigrants  were  received,  card-catalogued  and 
passed  on  to  their  various  destinies. 

Captain  Roantree  offered  to  motor  her  thither. 

"It's  a  longish  spin,  but — " 

"Yes,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  my  father  took  me  there. 
I  remember  it  was  a  sort  of  Coney  Island  place.  Oh  dear ! 
oh  dear!" 

She  was  thinking  of  the  laughing,  vanished  days  when 
her  father  and  mother  had  crossed  the  ocean  together  to 
share  in  his  honors  from  learned  societies  and  from  mon- 
archs.  After  her  father  had  lectured  on  his  explorations 
and  been  made  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society, 
the  family  had  gone  on  a  picnic  to  Earl's  Court  for  the 
children's  sake. 

She  could  see  herself  and  her  sister  clinging  to  their 
father's  hands  and  dragging  him  contrariwise  to  take  in  the 
childish  gaieties.  And  now  her  father  was  somewhere  in 
Arctic  realms,  and  her  mother  and  sister  were  where? 

The  destinies  of  Earl's  Court  had  changed  as  much  as 
those  of  her  people.  The  throngs  of  pleasure-loafers  had 
changed  to  throngs  of  Belgians  doomed  to  loaf  in  exile; 
the  interior  of  Alexandra  Palace  was  a  sea  of  cots  where 
thousands  slept  who  had  no  other  shelter. 

Captain  Roantree  led  Dimny  through  the  bewildered 
idlers  to  the  registry  office.  But  the  great  card-index  there 
failed  to  reveal  any  one  named  Parcot. 

Everywhere  Dimny  went  she  met  the  more  or  less 
masked  resentment  at  America's  abstention  from  the 
war.  America,  the  boastful  monopolist  of  liberty,  stood 
off  and  sold  goods  and  was  chiefly  concerned  about  an 
exquisitely  nice  neutrality  while  the  liberty  of  the  world 
was  assailed. 

The  rash  and  the  hot-headed  are  not  always  the  fools. 
Those  who  think  longest  and  compute  most  cautiously  are 
not  always  the  most  saving.  Since  it  was  to  come  about 
that  America  should  enter  the  war  at  last,  what  mountains 
of  gold,  what  fleets  of  ships,  what  millions  of  lives,  what 

116 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

hells  of  suffering  would  have  been  saved  if  the  entrance  had 
been  made  like  England's  after  a  short,  sharp  decision ! 

Dimny  spent  several  days  pursuing  false  hopes  of  finding 
her  mother  and  sister  in  some  of  the  refugee  nests  in  Eng 
land.  Christmas  Day  passed  meanwhile,  a  holiday  of 
courageous  effort  at  merrymaking  in  lonely  home  and 
frozen  trench  for  all  the  nations.  It  was  Dimny's  first 
Christmas  without  her  people,  and  it  was  bitter  hard  for 
her.  She  felt  like  a  lost  child  crying  for  her  mother  in  a 
jungle. 

She  was  convinced  that  they  were  not  in  England,  and 
she  began  to  make  inquiries  as  to  the  routes  to  Belgium. 
She  learned  first  that  she  must  enter  by  way  of  Holland, 
and  she  found  herself  turning  naturally  to  Gilbert  Roantree 
as  her  courier. 

He  was  delighted  to  fag  for  her.  He  promised  her  "the 
info."  the  next  morning. 

The  next  morning  brought  the  maid  to  her  with  the  word : 

"An  officer  to  see  you — I  couldn't  catch  his  name." 

She  went  down  with  her  greeting  ready  for  the  charming 
Captain  Roantree.     She  found  a  British  uniform  with  its 
back  to  her.     She  did  not  recognize  the  back.     At  the 
sound  of  her  step  Lane  Sperling's  face  whirled  into  view. 
'Mr.  Sperling!"  she  gasped. 
'Lef tenant  Sperling,  by  your  leave." 
'I  didn't  know  you." 

'  I  don't  wonder.     I  hardly  know  myself." 
'But  your  uniform — it's  English,  isn't  it!" 
'Yes,  and  so  am  I.     At  least  I'm  no  longer  a  Yankee. 
Took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  King  yesterday,  and 
now  I  feel  like  the  man  without  a  country." 

"No!"  There  was  a  tone  of  protesting  horror  in  her 
voice. 

"Yes,"  he  confessed,  I've  forsworn  the  President,  and 
I'm  in  for  it.  If  America  wants  me  again,  she'll  have  to 
come  over  to  France  and  get  me.  That's  where  all  good 
Americans  go  when  they  die.  And  they  belong  there  now." 

He  slapped  his  boots  with  his  swagger  stick  and  mimicked 
Piccadillyese : 

"I'm  a  little  bit  of  all  right— what?" 

117 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

But  Dimny  saw  that  the  renunciation  was  a  tragedy  to 
him,  and  he  was  only  trying  to  face  it  through.  She  was 
in  no  humor  to  underrate  the  sacrifice. 

"I  wish  I  could  wear  the  same  uniform,"  she  said,  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"Why  don't  you?    Look  at  me!" 

Katherine  Devoe  had  wandered  in  unbeknownst.  She 
wore  a  feminized  version  of  Sperling's  garb — a  cap,  a 
khaki  coat  with  long  skirts  not  quite  disguising  the  breeches 
beneath,  with  puttees  greaving  her  slim  shins. 

"Katherine!"  Dimny  cried. 

"Ambulance-driver  to  His  Majesty!"  said  Katherine, 
saluting  with  a  comic-opera  effect.  She  was  still  woman 
enough  to  circle  slowly  and  say:  "How  does  it  hang  in  the, 
back?  I  had  it  made  in  such  a  hurry  I  had  to  take  what 
they  gave  me." 

"It's  beautiful,"  said  Dimny.  "Ever  so  much  more 
becoming  than  the  bare  shoulders  and  silk  stockings  you 
wear  to  dance  in." 

"My  little  car  is  being  remodeled,  too,  with  little  shelves 
for  wounded  soldiers.  This  is  the  life,  Dimny.  Better 
jump  into  a  uniform  and  come  along." 

"If  only  I  could!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BOTH  Captain  Roantree  and  Lieutenant  Sperling 
wanted  to  escort  Dimny  to  Rotterdam  and  beyond. 
They  would  have  escorted  her  to  heaven  gladly,  and 
quarreled  all  the  way  up  the  ladder.  But  Holland  was 
maintaining  her  neutrality  with  a  pride  in  inverse  ratio 
to  her  size,  and  the  uniforms  of  both  men  would  have 
required  their  internment  as  prisoners.  They  would  have 
then  been  of  no  help  to  anybody,  least  of  all  to  Dimny. 

The  sole  consolation  of  each  was  that  the  other  could  not 
go,  either.  They  insisted  on  going  as  far  as  the  Batavier- 
line  pier  where  she  would  take  the  boat.  Since  Antwerp 
had  fallen  into  German  hands,  the  direct  line  was  closed, 
and  no  English  boats  were  running. 

They  saw  her  bestowed  in  her  state-room,  bade  her 
stilted  good-bys,  and  wished  her  good  luck.  That  was  all 
either  could  say  in  the  presence  of  his  rival — though  the 
word  is  overstrong,  since  neither  had  any  claim  upon  her 
beyond  his  readiness  to  live  or  die  for  her — after  their  coun 
try  had  finished  with  them. 

They  watched  the  boat  set  forth  into  the  rough  black 
Thames. 

Sperling  groaned,  "One  damfine  girl!" 

Roantree  growled,  "Nice  kid!" 

The  next  morning  Dimny  was  on  deck  very  betimes  for 
the  landing  at  Rotterdam.  She  had  learned  in  London 
that  the  express  no  longer  ran  from  Rotterdam  to  Antwerp 
— that  the  railroad  was  indeed  torn  up  between  Antwerp 
and  the  frontier  of  Holland.  She  had  figured  it  out  that, 
once  she  reached  the  border,  she  could  pass  the  sentry-line 
by  means  of  her  passport  and  resume  her  journey. 

She  learned  that  the  train  would  not  leave  for  several 
hours,  if  then.  The  war  had  upset  all  schedules,  and 

119 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Holland  had  four  hundred  thousand  troops  under  arms  as 
guardians  of  her  integrity;  and  they  had  to  be  supplied. 
Also  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  refugees  had  to  be  sup 
plied  in  their  numberless  resting-places.  And  Holland  was 
feeding  hundreds  of  thousands  of  Belgians  in  Belgium. 

The  journey  that  should  have  taken  one  hour  took  several. 

She  got  out  at  Rosendaal  and  made  inquiries  at  the 
Custom-House  concerning  the  best  point  of  entry  into 
Belgium.  She  was  strongly  assured  that  she  would  be 
turned  back  at  the  border;  her  passport  was  useless.  She 
was  entreated  not  to  brave  the  German  guard.  She  was 
assured  that  the  gentle  treatment  of  women  was  not  in  the 
German  regulations.  She  would  be  arrested,  searched, 
imprisoned,  perhaps  shot  as  a  spy. 

She  was  convinced  at  last  that  she  could  not  proceed 
formally.  But  she  was  not  convinced  that  she  must  give 
up  her  mission. 

An  impulse  moved  her  to  try  to  steal  across  the  line. 
She  left  the  big  station  and  walked  through  the  dreary  town. 
Fifteen  thousand  people  it  had  had  before  the  war,  and 
in  a  few  days  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  thousand  men, 
women,  and  children  flung  themselves  down  upon  it, 
spent  with  flight  from  captured  Antwerp.  On  Bergen- 
op-Zoom  three  hundred  thousand  descended.  The  dead 
towns  woke.  Somehow  the  invaders  were  sheltered  and 
fed.  Cattle  were  "milked  almost  into  the  mouths  of  the 
little  Belgians."  In  one  big  factory -building  six  thousand 
were  housed.  They  slept  in  straw  in  a  huddle  of  promis 
cuity.  Gradually  they  were  shipped  to  other  parts  of 
Holland  and  to  England,  the  government  running  long 
trains  without  cost.  But  thousands  still  remained  in 
Rosendaal. 

Dimny  saw  on  the  walls  many  names  still  written  as  a 
tragic  directory  eloquent  of  that  panic.  Fathers  who  had 
lost  their  children,  and  children  who  had  lost  their  parents, 
had  inscribed  their  names  and  their  destinations,  or  had 
had  them  written  by  others. 

''Marie  van  der  Meylen  est  en  route  pour  Capellen." 

"Charles  Franken,  ton  petit  gar $ on  est  a  Capellen  avec  ton 
frere  Jean." 

120 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  wept  to  read  a  childish  scrawl,  "Nanette  a  passk 
par  id."  Nanette  had  not  felt  the  need  of  giving  her  last 
name;  she  had  not  known  where  she  was  going.  Dimny 
wondered  if  she  had  ever  found  her  parents.  Thousands 
of  children  never  did. 

A  priest  at  Rosendaal  had  set  some  of  the  tiny  fugitives 
on  his  pulpit  and  called  out:  "Whose  pretty  little  girl  is 
this?  Whose  nice  boy  is  this?"  The  papers  published 
groups  of  child-portraits  under  the  heading,  "Who  will 
help  us  hunt?  Wie  helpt  uns  zoekenf" 

A  fond  hope  that  perhaps  she  might  find  her  own  lost 
in  this  throng  led  Dimny  to  wander  aimlessly.  She  saw 
wagons  turned  into  homes;  a  great  colony  occupied  tents 
furnished  by  the  Dutch  army.  This  was  the  army  of  the 
fugitives — the  vluchtelingen.  Dimny  strolled  among  the 
emigres,  looking,  looking,  wondering  always  if  her  mother 
and  sister  might  not  be  crouched  before  the  next  fire, 
fearing  that  they  might  perhaps  be  hidden  from  her  in  the 
last  closed  tent. 

Quietly  as  Dimny  was  dressed,  she  was  a  princess  among 
these  shabby  folk,  many  of  whom  had  been  richer  than  she. 

By  and  by  she  heard  a  voice  in  English  among  the 
Flemish,  the  Walloon,  and  other  dialects  that  she  could  not 
understand. 

"Scuse  me,  lady — you  was  American,  yes?" 

She  turned  and  caught  the  smile  of  a  soldier  who  was 
trying  to  rise  from  the  ground,  his  feet  caught  in  a  hole 
in  the  long  skirt  of  his  great  shabby  overcoat.  He  ap 
proached  Dimny  and  pulled  his  cap  off,  spilling  a  lot  of 
curls.  He  would  have  been  the  neater  for  a  shave,  but 
there  was  a  certain  breeding  in  his  bearing. 

"I  theenked  you  was  American  from  how  you  look.  Me, 
I  am  American,  too,  not  quite." 

Dimny  could  imagine  nothing  to  say  except  a  polite 
laughing,  "Are  you?" 

"Did  you  ever  been  in  Brookleen?" 

"I  am  not  sure,"  she  said.     He  laughed  louder.     "Not 

sure  about  to  been  in  Brookleen?    I  am  there  for  the 

caoutchouc — the  rubber  beesness.     I  come  over  to  veesit  my 

mawther  choost  before  the  war  is  broke  out.     I  am  re- 

9  121 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

servist.  They  call  me  to  the  army  of  La  Belgique.  I  am 
in  Anvers — Antwerp  you  say — ven  she  is  fell. 

"  I  cannot  escape  with  the  King  and  Queen  and  our  army, 
for  I  am  in  the  fortress  of  Oudendyk.  The  bridge  is  blew 
up  between  us,  and  I  must  run  to  here.  Is  no  escape,  and 
here  I  must  render  myself  to  the  Hollandais.  I  am  prees- 
oner.  I  am  on  a  pass  for  to-day  only.  It  is  great  fortune 
I  find  my  mother  and  seester,  their  names  on  the  walls  at 
Rosendaal.  They  have  now  a  fine  home.  See?  Good 
air — vat  you  call  in  America  nice  slipping-porch  and  kitchen 
ette — yes?  Elevators,  doomb  vetter,  everytheeng." 

Dimny  smiled  at  his  good  sportsmanship  and  asked  him, 
eagerly: 

"Your  mother  and  sister — do  they  come  from  Dofnay 
perhaps?" 

"Dofnay.no?  But  from  Aerschot.  But  you  shall  meet 
my  mother  and  seester — yes?" 

He  led  Dimny  forward  and  made  the  presentations  form 
ally,  introducing  her  as  "une  demoiselle  amtricaine." 
Though  they  were  seated  like  gipsies  on  the  ground  about  a 
smoky  camp-fire,  they  bowed  their  heads  with  courtliness. 
The  mother  offered  Dimny  a  place  on  the  earth  at  her  side 
as  if  it  were  a  royal  divan.  The  daughter  insisted  on  her 
joining  them  in  the  stew  that  bubbled  in  the  kettle.  Dimny 
accepted  to  avoid  offense. 

She  explained  her  mission  and  found  that  it  gave  these 
helpless  ones  a  thrill  of  pride  to  be  appealed  to  for  help. 
They  had  drawn  so  heavily  on  the  help  of  strangers. 
Dimny  told  of  the  uselessness  of  her  passport  and  her  de 
termination  to  cross  the  line  without  authority,  if  it  could 
be  done. 

"It  could  be.  It  is,"  said  the  soldier.  " Letters  go  across 
every  days.  There  is  a  post.  For  a  few  francs  you  can 
have  a  letter  deleevered  in  Belgium,  or  a  paper  from  Lon 
don.  The  Germans  are  furious,  but  they  cannot  stop  it. 

"All  the  time,  too,  men  and  vomen  go  and  come.  Some 
times  they  are  caught,  but  sometimes  they  get  across. 
For  a  time  they  hided  under  cabbages  and  beets  in  vagons. 
But  the  Germans  soon  find  out,  for  they  have  spies  every 
where.  My  mother  saw  them  drag  a  man  out  from  a 

122 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

vagon  and  shoot  him  dead  vithout  question.  Now  they 
stab  their  bayonets  into  every  vagon.  You  could  not 
go  so. 

"But  you  could  bribe  the  sentinels.  Some  of  the 
sentinels  vant  money,  food,  drink.  They  will  let  you  pass, 
I  think,  if  you  have  money." 

"I  have  that,"  said  Dimny.     "Where  shall  I  go?" 

"If  you  will  permit  me  to  be  at  your  service,"  said 
young  Reumont.  His  manner  was  as  gallant  as  his  cos 
tume  was  shabby. 

When  they  reached  the  highroad  they  turned  south, 
hoping  to  be  overtaken  by  one  of  the  great  carts  drawn 
by  the  huge  Brabantine  draft-horses.  But  all  they  saw 
were  going  northerly. 

The  sound  of  a  motor-horn  made  them  leap  aside.  A 
big  car  painted  gray  shot  by.  The  passenger  in  the  rear 
leaned  out  to  stare  at  them — he  reached  forward  and 
touched  the  driver;  the  car  stopped  at  a  distance  and  then 
came  backing  toward  them.  The  passenger,  standing  up, 
stared  at  Dimny  without  qualm. 

"Who  is  it?"  Dimny  murmured. 

"A  boche!"  said  Reumont.  "A  sp}^,  no  doubt.  What 
does  he  vant  vit  us?  Thank  God  ve  are  in  Holland. 
The  Germans  are  careful  vit  the  Hollandais." 

As  the  car  approached,  the  passenger  lifted  his  hat  and 
said  in  English  that  would  have  been  perfect  if  it  had  not 
been  quite  so  perfect: 

"Pardon  me,  Miss,  but  I  guess  that  you  are  an  American, 
are  you  not?" 

Reumont  saved  her  from  answering  by  speaking  coldly. 
Monsieur  se  trompe.  Mademoiselle  n'est  pas  am£ricaine. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  guessed  she  was.  You  see, 
I  am  come  from  America,  and  I  was  about  to  offer  the 
youngk  lady  to  rite  in  the  car.  You  are  goingk  to  Bel- 
chium,  yes?" 

Dimny  was  tempted  to  accept  the  offer  of  this  swift  aid, 
but  Reumont  spoke  with  frigidity. 

"Mein  Herr  se  trompe." 

The  stranger  waited  vainly  for  Dimny  to  speak;  then 
he  bowed,  started,  and  stared  as  if  he  had  met  her  some- 

123 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

where  and  just  recalled  her,  glared  as  if  he  would  impress 
her  image  on  his  memory,  turned,  dropped  back  into  his 
seat,  and  growled  at  his  chauffeur,  and  the  car  sped  on. 
Dimny  saw  it  dwindle  in  its  own  wake  of  dust  with  regret. 
She  was  already  tired  out. 

"You  think  he  was  not  to  be  trusted?"  she  asked. 

"Did  you  theenk  him  American  with  his  I  guesses?" 

"No,  but  I  thought  he  might  perhaps  be  a  nice  flying 
Dutchman." 

"The  Dutch  do  not  make  duels  with  broadswords,"  said 
Reumont.  "  Did  you  see  the  tip  of  his  ear  gone  and  the  cut 
on  his  cheek?" 

"Yes,  that's  so!" 

"And  the  car  all  gray  like  a  German  military  car.  He 
is,  I  think,  an  espion.  Wherever  you  go,  beware  of  the 
Germans,  and  most  of  the  friendly  ones." 

A  little  later  there  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  them, 
and  a  rumble  of  wheels.  Reumont  stopped  the  high- 
perched  driver  of  a  vegetable-wagon  and  asked  for  a  lift. 
They  went  jouncing  down  the  road  for  five  long,  loud  miles. 
The  noise  was  too  great  for  conversation,  and  Reumont 
said  nothing  until  they  approached  the  frontier.  Then 
they  got  down. 

"This  is  so  far  I  can  go.  I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "But 
there  is  the  frontier.  See — it  shines  in  the  evening  sun." 

She  saw  a  double  fence  of  wire  crossing  the  fields  and  dis 
appearing  at  the  horizon  right  and  left. 

"Those  wires  are  full  of  electric  death,"  said  Reumont. 
"You  see  that?" 

He  pointed  to  what  seemed  to  be  an  old  suit  of  clothes 
hung  carelessly  across  the  line. 

"That  is  the  body  of  some  poor  man  who  tried  to  pass  at 
night.  Do  not  go  near.  Do  not  touch.  It  is  to  die." 

"But  how  do  I  go  through?" 

He  pointed  to  the  opening  in  the  wire  where  the  road 
passed.  There  were  two  sentry-boxes,  and  farther  back  a 
small  building.  Pacing  up  and  down  at  the  gate  were  two 
sentinels — one  in  the  Dutch  uniform  beneath  the  red, 
white,  and  blue  flag  of  Holland,  the  other  in  the  field  gray 
of  Germany. 

124 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Reumont  made  sure  that  no  one  was  in  sight  and  told 
Dimny  what  to  do  and  say. 

He  raised  both  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them 
and  stood  with  bowed  head  while  she  went  forward  sadly, 
timidly.  The  Dutch  sentinel  stared  at  her  impassively. 
The  German  called  out  to  her,  smartly : 

"Halt!   wohin  gehen  Sie?" 

"Nach  Esschen,"  Dimny  quavered.  Reumont  had  told 
her  that  that  was  the  name  of  the  next  village  across  the 
border. 

"Haben  Sie  Passierschein?"  the  sentinel  asked. 

Dimny  shook  her  head  and  tried  to  smile  enticingly. 
The  sentinel  looked  over  his  shoulder,  then  smiled  in  turn, 
twiddled  his  fingers  and  repeated,  meaningly : 

"Sie  haben  kein  Passierschein?" 

"Aber  ja  wohl!"  said  Dimny,  and  she  held  up  a  bit  of 
paper  money. 

The  sentinel  grinned  and  was  about  to  put  forth  his 
hand  when  from  the  small  building  a  man  stepped  out.  It 
was  the  man  with  the  nicked  ear. 

Dimny  retreated  in  a  panic  to  where  Reumont  stood. 
They  saw  the  man  advance  to  the  sentinel;  they  saw  him 
speaking  angrily,  and  he  struck  the  sentinel  in  the  face. 

"I  did  guess  he  was  a  German  officer,"  said  Reumont. 
"One  can  tell  him  by  his  striking  the  soldier.  It  is  no  hope. 
Ve  are  sospect!  Ve  must  try  another  vay." 

Reumont  told  Dimny  that  there  was  an  old  Dutch 
mouw  who  lived  in  a  little  hut  and  now  and  then  smuggled 
people  through.  She  gave  the  sentinels  occasional  cups  of 
milk  and  slabs  of  cheese,  and  she  always  told  them  what  a 
nuisance  the  Belgians  were.  So  they  were  not  suspicious  of 
Vrouw  Weenix. 

They  found  her  in  her  little  ancient  room  with  plates 
aligned  on  shelves  like  haloes  for  sale.  The  neatness  was 
distressing. 

From  a  rope  on  a  pulley  hung  a  kettle  with  a  singing 
spout.  She  made  tea  from  it  as  soon  as  Reumont  had 
explained  in  Dutch  what  Dimny 's  errand  was. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  Vrouw  Weenix,  but  most  of  it 
was  heart.  Out  of  her  poverty  she  fed  a  multitude  as  by 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

some  miracle.  She  dwelt  in  a  sea  of  woe  and  she  did  her 
best  to  conquer  it.  She  had  just  milked  her  equally 
generous  cow,  and  she  gave  her  guests  two  beakers  of  the 
warm  white  wine,  still  afroth. 

She  made  what  cheer  she  could  for  Dimny  until  the  night 
had  grown  pitch  dark,  and  then  she  got  out  her  old  lantern 
and  lighted  it,  stuck  her  feet  into  her  whitewashed  wooden 
shoes  and  beckoned  the  girl  to  follow. 

Reumont  had  explained  the  trick  that  had  got  many  a 
poor  wretch  across  the  dead-line.  Vrouw  Weenix  was  an 
official  of  the  "underground  railroad"  and  postal  system. 

Dimny  flitted  after  her  in  the  shadow  of  her  lantern, 
almost  running  to  keep  pace  with  the  beldame's  long  strides. 
The  patter  of  Dimny 's  little  feet  was  lost  in  the  click-clack 
of  the  old  woman's  sabots.  For  the  Dutch  sentinel  Vrouw 
Weenix  had  a  pleasant  word,  but  when  the  German  chal 
lenged  her  she  paused  and  gave  her  name,  and  took  from 
the  pocket  of  her  enormous  skirt  her  pass. 

She  held  her  lantern  up  to  the  man's  face,  so  that  while 
seeming  to  help  him  to  read  her  pass  she  should  actually 
dazzle  his  eyes  to  the  quick  flight  of  Dimny  over  the 
line. 

The  ruse  had  succeeded  again  and  again,  and  it  would 
have  prospered  now  had  not  a  military  car  borne  down  upon 
them  with  headlights  that  illumined  the  scene  like  a 
meteor. 

Dimny  stopped  short,  revealed.  The  sentinel  saw  her 
instantly.  Her  surprise  and  her  quick  stop  convinced 
him  of  her  purpose  to  run  past  his  guard.  He  darted 
toward  her  with  bayonet  forward  as  he  shouted: 

"Halt!    Hande  hoch!" 

But  she  did  not  put  up  her  hands.  She  whirled  and  ran 
back  into  the  security  of  Holland,  trying  to  escape  the  long 
arms  of  the  search-light. 

She  paused  behind  a  tree  and  saw  that  the  sentinel  held 
Vrouw  Weenix  prisoner.  In  answer  to  his  cry,  other 
soldiers  came  running  from  the  guard-house.  They  seized 
the  old  woman  and  dragged  her  away. 

Dimny  stood  shivering  in  remorseful  terror.  She  felt  it 
her  duty  to  return  and  offer  herself  as  a  hostage.  But  as 

126 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

she  stepped  into  the  road  she  was  caught  and  dragged 
back.  Reumont's  voice  came  down  across  her  shoulder: 

"Queeck,  come  avay!" 

"No,  I  must  go  and  save  that  poor  oia  soul." 

"How  should  you  save?  You  make  only  another 
preesoner.  You  cannot  help  her.  You  harm  her  more. 
She  tells  a  good  lie  and  gets  free,  I  am  sure.  Please  to 
come." 

She  suffered  herself  to  be  led  back  along  the  road,  weep 
ing  with  pity  for  the  poor  soul  whose  crime  had  been  a  good 
deed.  She  did  not  know  that  the  man  with  the  nicked  ear 
who  had  accosted  her  on  the  road,  and  had  seen  her  try  to 
bribe  the  sentinel,  was  in  the  car  whose  lights,  like  super 
human  eyes,  had  found  her  out  in  the  dark.  From  behind 
that  screen  of  radiance  he  watched  her  and  impressed  her 
image  on  his  mind  for  future  reference. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TAKERS  was  nothing  for  Dimny  to  do  now  but  get 
1  through  the  night  somehow  and  let  the  morrow  bring 
counsel  for  a  new  plan. 

Seeing  how  tired  she  was,  Reumont  found  a  peasant  and 
hired  a  cart  to  take  them  back  to  Rosendaal.  He  placed 
Dimny  in  charge  of  his  mother  and  sister,  and  she  spent 
the  night  on  straw  under  a  ragged  coverlet. 

She  was  glad  and  proud  to  share  the  universal  wretched 
ness.  Perhaps  her  mother  and  sister  had  fared  less  well 
than  she. 

Breakfast  was  not  served  to  the  vluchtelingen.  No  maid 
brought  them  coffee  and  toast  and  letters.  There  was  no 
bath-tub — only  a  little  water  from  a  pail. 

It  wrung  her  heart  to  abandon  these  new  friends.  She 
longed  for  the  wealth  and  the  power  of  angels  that  she 
might  wreak  miracles  of  redemption  and  revenge.  But  she 
was  a  girl  and  alone. 

She  embraced  and  kissed  the  two  women,  and  they  prom 
ised  to  pray  for  her.  Reumont  escorted  her  to  the  big 
railroad  station  and  helped  her  arrange  to  have  her  bag 
gage  sent  back  to  Rotterdam. 

Reumont  was  very  knightly  in  his  poverty.  He  kissed 
both  her  hands  again  when  he  bade  her  good-by  again. 
Then  he  set  out  for  the  internment  camp,  through  the  rain 
that  came  icily  down  now  upon  the  town,  the  tents,  the 
roads,  the  fields. 

The  rain  came  down  upon  Dimny 's  cheeks  from  her  eyes. 
Life  was  too  much  for  her. 

And  so.  like  a  little  driven  Belgian  vluchieltngetje,  she  took 
up  her  bundle  of  woe  and  plodded  on  under  the  lash  of 
necessity. 

The  train  took  her  back  to  Rotterdam  through  floods 

128 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

of  rain  that  made  the  passage  almost  submarine.  She  took 
a  taxicab  from  the  station  to  the  American  consulate,  where 
Colonel  Listoe  was  polite,  regretful,  but  positive.  He 
offered  his  services  in  setting  on  foot  a  search  for  her  missing 
people,  but  he  could  promise  her  nothing  except  that  the 
process  would  be  slow  and  uncertain.  He  told  her  about 
the  Commission  for  Relief  in  Belgium,  and  he  gave  her  the 
address  at  98  Haringvliet,  called  a  taxicab  for  her,  and  told 
her  to  ask  for  Capt.  J.  F.  Lucey,  one  of  the  Americans 
who  had  given  up  his  business  for  the  purpose  of  heaping 
up  riches  in  heaven,  and  who  had  signalized  his  assumption 
of  office  as  Rotterdam  manager  of  the  C.  R.  B.  by  stealing 
three  shiploads  of  wheat  and  saving  thousands  of  lives 
thereby. 

When  the  owners  finally  turned  up  and  demanded  where 
their  wheat  was,  he  answered,  "In  the  bellies  of  little 
Belgians." 

His  palace  of  industry  was  once  the  home  of  an  old 
Dutch  fleetmaster.  From  an  upper  window  the  Yankee 
fleetmaster  could  look  down  upon  the  river  Maas,  or  Meuse, 
and  the  squadron  of  barges  that  carried  salvation  from 
famine  along  the  waterways  of  Belgium. 

The  taxicab  swung  Dimny  down  a  lane  of  dripping  trees 
aligned  along  the  lake-like  canal  of  the  Haringvliet,  once 
busy  with  the  herring-boats.  She  stepped  out  at  No.  98 
and  entered  the  waiting-room,  which  had  been  a  gorgeous 
dining-room  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before. 

The  hall  and  the  waiting-room  were  filled  now  with  barge 
men  and  with  the  bustling  officers  and  clerks  of  the  Com 
mission.  Dimny  recognized  American  faces  among  the 
others,  and  she  felt  a  little  renewal  of  hope  in  her  dreary 
soul.  It  was  less  easy  to  despair  in  this  busy  room  with 
its  tall  mirrors,  its  landscaped  panels,  its  florid  ceiling,  and 
its  vast  glowing  ingle  than  out  in  the  windy  camp  at  Rosen- 
daal. 

And  then,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  prayer  for  a  miracle,  a 
young  angel  appeared  at  the  door.  At  least,  he  looked  like 
an  angel  to  her.  Seeing  her,  he  stared  with  radiant  eyes 
as  if  she  looked  like  an  angel  to  him. 

"Mr.  Winsor!"  she  gasped. 

120 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Dimny — Miss  Parcot!"  he  cried,  and  rushed  to  her 
jostling  the  Dutch  barge  captains  aside  like  ninepins. 

They  clasped  hands,  gazed,  lowered  their  eyes,  and 
blushed  in  unison.  Both  were  remembering  that  wild  little 
note  of  love  that  he  had  sent  to  her.  Both  were  hearing 
anew  its  echoes  in  their  hearts. 

In  moments  of  extraordinary  experience  people  usually 
say  commonplace  things.  Dimny's  best  at  this  marvelous 
moment  was  to  exclaim : 

"What  a  coincidence!" 

Noll  blushed  a  little  deeper.  Coincidences  are  things 
that  lovers  manufacture. 

"You  can  call  it  that  if  you  want  to,"  he  said,  "but 
if  you  could  know  how  I've  hoped  to  find  you!" 

She  told  him  a  little  of  what  she  had  gone  through  and 
of  her  hopelessness  of  getting  into  Belgium.  He  struck 
her  with  a  very  pleasant  lightning  when  he  said: 

"Why,  I'll  take  you  in  myself." 

"But  they  tell  me  my  passport  is  useless." 

"Of  course  it  is.  It's  only  an  American  Government 
passport.  I'll  get  you  a  passport  of  the  C.  R.  B.  That 
will  take  you  where  nothing  else  will." 

"You'll  get  me  into  Belgium?"  Dimny  cried. 

"Surest  thing  you  know!  Of  course,  they'll  arrest  you 
every  few  minutes,  and  they'll  search  you  to  the  skin — as  the 
saying  is;  and  they  may  shoot  you,  but  I'll  take  you  in, 
if  you'll  go  with  me.  I'll  take  you  in  in  my  own  car,  for 
I've  just  been  made  the  courier  of  the  C.  R.  B." 

He  knew  even  better  than  she  what  dangers,  what  in 
sults,  what  hatreds  lay  in  wait  for  them;  but  if  only 
they  could  face  them  together,  it  was  enough  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  the  rush  of  their  first  greeting  Noll  and  Dimny,  like 
young  devourers  of  romance,  skipped  to  the  last  chapter 
before  they  took  up  the  first.  She  had  told  him  of  how 
her  passport  had  failed  to  get  her  into  Belgium,  and  he  had 
piomised  that  he  would  accomplish  for  her  what  Uncle 
Sam  had  failed  to  do,  all  before  she  thought  to  ask  him  how 
and  why  he  had  come  to  Rotterdam. 

The  swift,  deep  look  he  gave  into  her  eyes  answered  for 
him  so  well  that  she  blushed  fiercely,  then  whitened,  then 
looked  away.  And  that  frightened  him  past  confessing 
that  he  had  followed  her  on  the  simple,  sufficient  impulse  of 
an  infatuated  lover  who  could  not  bear  to  let  his  chosen 
one  out  of  his  life.  If  she  escaped  from  it,  he  must  pick 
up  his  life,  pursue  her,  and  cast  it  about  her  again. 

He  could  not  proclaim  this  world-old  reason-beyond- 
reason,  in  the  face  of  Dimny's  alarm  nor  in  the  midst  of 
that  crowded  room  where  petitioners  and  providers  came 
und  went.  He  gave  instead  his  secondary  reason. 

"Oh,  I  was  sick  of  loafing  in  Carthage  while  so  much 
r/as  going  on,  and  I  thought  I'd  have  to  take  a  peek  at  the 
big  show." 

He  did  not  admit  that  he  hoped  to  achieve  something 
for  the  victims  of  Germany  that  might  atone  somewhat  for 
the  German  blood  in  his  own  veins.  He  had  come  to  regard 
it  as  a  vicious  principle  in  his  system,  an  inherited  disease. 
America  was  full  of  Germans  whose  dominant  loyalty  to 
the  Vaterland  was  not  smothered,  but  wakened  to  new  life, 
by  the  atrocities  of  the  army,  and  whose  loyalty  grew  with 
the  exercise  of  defending  Germany  from  the  rest  of  the 
world.  And  if  the  rest  of  the  world  has  swung  to  excessive 
and  cruel  extremes  of  hostility  toward  the  German  people, 
who  gave  it  the  push  unless  it  was  the  German  people  ? 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

But  Noll  did  not  mention  the  German  half  of  his  ancestry 
to  Dimny.  He  told  her  of  his  zest  for  travel,  and  the  thrill 
of  his  first  sea  voyage  and  his  first  vision  of  the  Statue  of 
Liberty  as  his  ship  marched  past  her,  down  the  Bay. 

"She  didn't  seem  to  be  welcoming  the  oppressed  from 
other  nations  to  America,  as  they  always  say.  When 
we  had  passed,  I  looked  back  and  Old  Lady  Liberty 
looked  like  a  mother  standing  at  a  home  door  and  holding  a 
lamp  out  into  the  dark  to  help  her  son  from  stumbling 
as  he  went  away.  When  I  left  my  mother  with  her  sister 
in  the  small  town  where  she  lived,  and  walked  to  the  station, 
that's  just  what  my  mother  did.  She  looked  mighty 
solemn,  and  so  did  Liberty.  Liberty  is  a  pretty  solemn 
thing  to  get  and  to  keep,  isn't  it  ? 

"I  wanted  to  get  into  the  thick  of  it  in  Belgium,  but  I 
found  out,  just  as  you  did,  that  an  American  passport  was 
no  use.  The  consul  referred  me  to  the  Commission  for 
Relief  in  Belgium  as  the  only  way  to  get  in,  so  I  came 
over  to  this  office.  Captain  Lucey  set  me  to  work  on  the 
spot,  and  what  do  you  suppose  was  my  first  fearless  task 
in  this  neck  of  woods?" 

"I  can't  imagine,"  said  Dimny. 

"Taking  Christmas  cards  out  of  Christmas  presents." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Dimny. 

"Who  could?"  said  Noll.  "But  you've  heard  of  the 
Christmas  ship?" 

"Something — not  much." 

"Well,  our  dear  United  States  was  so  stirred  up  by  the 
atrocities  in  Belgium  that  she  sent  over  two  war-ships; 
one  of  them,  the  Tennessee,  brought  over  money  to  pay 
the  board  bills  of  stranded  Americans  and  take  back  those 
who  hadn't  the  fare  home;  and  the  other,  the  collier  Jason, 
came  over  loaded  with  Christmas  presents  from  American 
children  to  Belgian  children  . 

"The  American  pacifists,  you  know,  keep  insisting  that  if 
America  is  very  careful  not  to  raise  an  army  or  sell  any 
ammunition  to  itself  or  anybody  else,  and  speaks  awfully 
gently  to  the  Germans,  they  will  soon  lay  down  their  arms 
and  cry  and  feel  sorry  and  ask  everybody  to  kiss  and  make 
up  and  let  bygones  be  bygones. 

132 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"So  one  of  the  first  things  they  did  was  to  see  that  the 
Christmas  ship  should  carry  a  big  cargo  of  presents  for 
little  German  children,  too,  so  that  every  Hansel  und  Gretel 
should  ask  Voter  und  Mutter  not  to  be  cross  any  longer, 
and  the  tender-hearted  Germans  were  so  touched  in  their 
well-known  Gemuthlichkeit  that  they  ordered  every  Christ 
mas  present  from  an  American  child  to  a  Belgian  child 
to  be  searched,  and  if  there  was  a  card  or  a  message  in  it, 
it  had  to  be  taken  out. 

"This  meant  no  end  of  work  for  the  foolish  Americans, 
and  it  meant  that  the  Belgian  children  would  not  get 
their  presents  in  time  for  Christmas,  but  a  lot  that  worried 
the  Germans.  They  wouldn't  harm  a  child  for  worlds.  If  a 
little  Belgian  brat  wanted  to  get  out  and  wander  along  the 
roads  while  they  burned  its  home  and  shot  its  papa  and 
mamma,  why,  they  didn't  mind.  But  of  course  they  had 
to  protect  their  poor  little  German  army  from  the  dan 
gerous  messages  American  children  would  be  sure  to  put 
into  the  packages.  So  they  ordered  Captain  Lucey  to  order 
every  line  of  writing  taken  out. 

"So  he  ordered  it.  He  does  nearly  everything  they  say, 
because,  if  he  doesn't,  then  a  heap  of  babies  are  going  to 
die  and  no  end  of  mothers  will  starve  or  go  mad  at  watching 
their  children  shrivel  up  and  perish. 

"But  I'm  afraid  we  left  some  of  the  messages  in.  And 
when  we  promised  to  take  out  all  the  messages,  we  didn't 
promise  not  to  put  any  back  in. 

"There's  quite  a  crowd  of  us  here,  a  lot  of  Rhodes 
scholars,  fine  young  fellows,  all  of  us  working  for  nothing,  of 
course — a  little  allowance  for  expenses,  but  that's  all.  It's 
costing  the  big  men,  Lucey,  and  Hoover,  and  the  others, 
fortunes,  and  they're  spending  millions  of  dollars,  but 
they're  saving  millions  of  lives. 

"It's  horrible  that  such  suffering  has  to  be,  but  it's 
glorious  to  be  doing  something  to  keep  it  down,  and  that's 
what  I'm  here  for.  But  you  haven't  told  me  what  brought 
you  to  Rotterdam,  or  why  you  want  to  get  to  Belgium,  or 
what  you'd  do  if  you  got  in?" 

Noll  knew  perfectly  well  what  her  mission  was,  yet  he 
felt  that  she  did  not  know  he  knew,  and  did  not  want  him 

X3.1 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  know.  In  order  to  put  her  at  ease,  he  asked  with  all  his 
available  innocence;  and  though  he  knew  how  secret  her 
reason  was,  yet  he  was  wounded  and  repulsed  when  she 
sheltered  her  secret  with  an  evasive  answer: 

"Why,  I — I  was  in  England,  and  a  Mrs.  Curfey  and  some 
other  people  asked  me  to  find  their  daughters.  Nearly  a 
hundred  poor  girls  who  were  in  convents  there  have  never 
been  heard  from  and  their  mothers  are  half-mad  with 
suspense." 

"I  see,"  said  Noll.  But  he  was  still  craven  with  the 
guilt  of  forbidden  knowledge,  and  something  impelled  him 
to  ask: 

"But  your  own  mother  and  sister — did  you  find  them  in 
England  all  right?  And  were  they  well?" 

And  then  Dimny  caught  her  breath  with  a  sudden  heart 
ache  and  she  was  too  shaken  to  manage  a  further  evasion. 
She  sighed. 

'My  mother  and  sister  are  in  Belgium,  too." 
'Really?     Where?"  said  Noll. 
'I  don't  know.     I've  got  to  find  them." 
'If  I  could  be  of  any  help,  now — " 
'Oh,  you  could,  I'm  sure.     I  don't  know  anybody  else 
who  could.     I  haven't  a  friend  on  earth." 

"Oh  yes,  you  have,"  Noll  insisted.  "You've  got  two — 
me  and  the  C.  R.  B.  We've  got  even  Germany  scared,  for 
if  the  C.  R.  B.  drops  out  all  Belgium  will  starve.  And 
Germany  doesn't  want  that.  At  first  she  didn't  care.  She 
thought  she  could  frighten  the  world  to  death  by  saying, 
'Boom!'  But  she's  beginning  to  know  better.  She's 
having  a  hard  enough  time  feeding  her  armies  and  her 
people.  And  she  stole  all  the  food  in  Belgium — and  every 
cow.  There  were  a  million  bushels  of  wheat  stored  up  in 
Antwerp.  She  took  it  all.  She  sold  five  thousand  bushels 
of  it  the  other  day  to  the  C.  R.  B.  Think  of  it.  American 
charity  gold  had  to  be  spent  to  buy  back  from  Germany 
for  the  Belgians  the  wheat  she  stole  from  the  Belgians. 
But  the  Americans  spent  it.  And  now  our  people  ^pn't 
get  arrested  more  than  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  theyTre 
always  released,  and  our  passport  is  recognized  where  no 
other  is." 

134 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Could  I  get  one  of  your  passports,  do  you  suppose?" 
Dimny  pleaded. 

"I'll  see.  Perhaps  Captain  Lucey  can  arrange  it.  I'll 
speak  to  him." 

He  went  up-stairs  to  the  office.  He  had  to  wait  till  two 
delegations  from  starving  towns  had  arranged  for  the 
shipment  of  barge-loads  of  food. 

Noll  told  Captain  Lucey  in  confidence  just  what  he  knew 
of  Dimny  and  of  her  search  for  her  mother  and  sister,  and 
begged  him  to  help  her  to  believe  that  her  secret  was 
unknown. 

The  captain  promised,  and  Noll  went  to  fetch  Dimny. 
She  gained  a  new  confidence  when  she  was  introduced  to 
this  man  who  had  saved  nearly  as  many  lives  as  the  Kaiser 
had  taken;  who  managed  a  great  fleet  of  ships  and  a 
squadron  of  barges  and  operated  an  automobile-factory  to 
make  trucks  for  the  distribution,  and  poured  wheat  and 
condensed-milk  cans  into  Belgium  nearly  as  fast  as  the 
Kaiser  hurled  bullets  and  grenades  into  France. 

Dimny  took  his  big  hand,  and  looked  up  into  his 
high-up  eyes,  and  explained  her  purpose  to  get  into 
Belgium  and  find  those  missing  girls.  The  captain  an 
swered  : 

"That  trip  hasn't  been  made  by  a  woman  yet." 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"The  Imperial  Government,  for  which  we  have  the 
greatest  respect — ahem! — will  make  a  whale  of  a  row. 
But  we'll — we'll  take  a  chance,  if  you'll  be  very  careful." 

"Oh,  I  will!"  cried  Dimny.  She  seized  Captain  Lucey 's 
hand  in  both  of  hers  and  wrung  it,  wailing,  "  I  can't  begin 
to  thank  you." 

"Don't  begin,"  he  mumbled,  shyly.  "Wait  till  you've 
finished,  then  you  may  not  want  to  thank  us." 

While  Dimny's  passports  were  being  arranged  for, 
Captain  Lucey  was  explaining  many  things  to  Noll,  who 
was  to  carry  opened  mail  through  the  lines  to  Brussels. 
He  told  Noll  to  expect  a  mysterious  passenger  to  join  him 
at  Dordrecht.  The  C.  R.  B.  had  made  such  vigorous  pro 
test  against  the  insolent  mistreatment  of  its  officers  and 
messengers  by  the  military  that  a  former  officer  was  going 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  look  in co  the  matter  and  he  would  ride  on  Noll's  car  in 
citizen's  clothes. 

Noll  groaned  with  rage.  He  had  counted  on  a  long  and 
pleasantly  adventurous  ride  with  Dimny.  Now  he  was  to 
have  a  chaperon.  Three  was  a  crowd  at  best,  but  when 
the  third  was  a  German  he  became  a  mob. 

Yet  at  least  he  was  where  he  wanted  to  be.  He  felt  in 
his  little  motor-car  like  a  young  knight  with  his  lady  on  the 
pillion  clinging  to  him;  and  they  rode  into  the  forest 
against  ogres  and  dragons  of  black  fame. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ENG  before,  while  Dimny  was  still  practising  her 
songs  in  California,  sending  her  young  voice  lilting 
through  the  florid  vocalises  of  her  Italian  master,  and 
schooling  her  fingers  at  the  piano  under  the  gentle  tempers 
of  her  old  German  professor,  her  mother  and  sister  had 
been  caught  and  crushed  by  that  other  Germany  from 
which  the  professor  and  millions  of  his  kind  had  fled  to 
American  freedom. 

Shortly  after  Alice  s  letter  was  started  on  its  slow  voyage 
to  Dimny  the  German  commandant  at  Dofnay  had  been 
driven  from  the  town  by  a  Belgian  counter-attack  and 
from  a  distance  had  bombarded  the  place.  A  shell  had 
crashed  through  the  roof  of  the  convent,  slaying  a  few  of 
the  nuns  in  their  little  beds  and  hurling  the  walls  of  their 
strait  cells  in  upon  their  mangled  bodies. 

After  the  first  incursion  of  German  beastliness  the  old 
Mother  Superior  had  called  her  flock  together  and  bidden 
the  victims  to  pray  for  their  oppressors,  to  ask  Heaven 
to  forgive  them,  since  they  knew  not  what  they  did.  Later 
she  had  prayed  Heaven  to  show  her  a  pathway  of  release 
for  her  tortured  fold.  The  only  answer  she  had  received 
had  come  from  the  German  cannon. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  leave  the  ruined  home  and 
take  to  the  fields,  for  the  Germans  in  the  reconquest  of  the 
town  took  a  revenge  for  their  ignominious  retreat  in  a 
more  ignominious  destruction. 

The  roads  were  full  of  battle.  German  patrols  clashed 
with  Belgian.  Skirmishers  chose  any  shelter  and  fought 
across  any  field.  The  flock  of  nuns  was  scattered  in  the 
night,  and  Dimny's  mother  and  her  sister  Alice,  creeping 
forth  from  a  barn  one  morning,  could  find  no  trace  of 
their  late  companions. 
10  137 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

They  fled  from  the  sound  of  the  cannon  and  the  sight  of 
the  flames.  But  the  margin  of  war  followed  them  like  a 
tide,  heading  them  off  now  here,  now  there,  driving  them 
hither  and  yon  till  they  were  far  from  Dofnay  and  quite 
lost  in  a  whirlpool  of  fugitives  flooding  a  crowded  road. 

On  that  road  a  dog  harnessed  to  a  wheelbarrow  turned  as 
he  tugged  and  stared  back  at  the  old  woman  in  wooden 
shoes  who  stumbled  haggardly  after.  She  carried  the  han 
dles  of  the  barrow;  it  was  heavily  loaded  with  a  box  tied 
up  in  rope,  a  heap  of  sacks,  and  sprawled  across  them 
a  little  girl  asleep,  rocked  asleep  in  her  terror,  her  hunger, 
and  her  tears  by  the  swaying  of  that  rolling  cradle.  The 
dog  looked  back  wonderingly  at  his  mistress  and  found 
that  she  was  turning  to  stare  at  the  burning  village  where 
she  had  left  her  husband  and  her  son  slain,  her  daughter's 
husband  and  her  daughter  dead.  Her  eyes  were  as  full  of 
wonder  as  the  dog's.  She  did  not  weep  for  sorrow,  or 
even  for  weariness. 

Her  home  was  gone,  the  gardens  destroyed  —  those 
gardens  built  indeed  with  hands,  since  all  the  soil  was 
brought  there  in  carts  and  spread  on  the  barren  sand  spade 
ful  by  spadeful. 

The  wheelbarrow  contained  all  her  worldly  goods,  a 
few  clothes,  a  little  bread  and  vegetables,  and  a  grand 
daughter.  The  next  village  was  a  long  way  off  and  she 
did  not  know  any  one  there.  She  had  never  been  there. 
It  was  her  Carcassonne,  always  to  be  visited,  but  never 
reached. 

She  would  get  to  town  now,  if  the  Germans  did  not  get 
there  ahead  of  her.  The  famous  church,  whose  towers 
she  had  just  been  able  to  see  when  her  eyes  were  young, 
would  not  be  there  unless  she  hurried.  In  the  wonderful 
market-square  she  would  find,  if  she  were  laggard,  the 
burgomaster  and  many  of  the  leading  merchants.  They 
would  be  standing  with  their  hands  held  high  or  tied  behind 
their  backs.  If  she  were  very  laggard  she  might  watch 
them  shot  down,  falling  in  heaps,  while  the  village  wives, 
whom  once  she  had  envied  because  they  lived  in  her 
Carcassonne,  would  be  wringing  their  hands  and  asking  the 
heavens  why  they  had  let  this  doom  fall  upon  the  pretty 

138 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

town.  If  she  were  a  little  later  she  would  find  the  living 
men  and  the  women  digging  ditches  to  bury  their  dead  in. 

By  the  roadside  the  American  women  dropped  on  a  pile 
of  stones.  They  did  not  look  at  each  other,  nor  did  they 
seem  to  see  the  throng  of  fugitives  straggling  past  them. 
Only  a  few  of  the  fugitives  noted  them,  and  they  stared  a 
moment  only,  for  these  two  women  had  not  the  look  of 
peasant  villagers. 

Numberless  lost  dogs  were  running  here  and  there, 
hunting  their  masters;  one  of  them,  a  big  Belgian  hound, 
approached  Alice  and  her  mother.  He  knew  that  they 
were  strange;  they  were  not  even  Belgian.  They  were  too 
dejected  and  benumbed  even  to  speak  to  a  lost  dog. 

A  herd  of  children  straggled  forward,  all  dressed  alike, 
all  fagged  out.  They  were  fugitives  from  an  orphanage  that 
had  been  struck  by  a  shell. 

On  a  wheelbarrow  lay  an  old  nun,  ninety  years  old.  A 
younger  nun  trundled  the  wheelbarrow  with  heavy  steps. 

A  madly  terrified  child,  a  little  girl  with  hair  flying  and 
eyes  wide,  darted  here  and  there  like  a  lost  dog,  seeking 
her  parents  and  fleeing  in  terror  from  all  the  outstretched 
hands  of  pity. 

A  wain  lumbered  along,  drawn  by  oxen,  and  loaded  with 
men  and  women  and  their  hasty  baggage.  A  knife-grinder, 
a  schaarsliep,  went  past,  lugging  his  little  machine-shop 
with  him,  but  he  did  not  cry  his  trade. 

Men,  boys,  girls,  glided  past  on  bicycles. 

A  platoon  of  young  girls  from  a  select  school  marched 
past  as  if  out  for  a  walk.  They  were  the  daughters  of 
officers.  They  had  for  shepherdess  a  grande  dame  of  great 
dignity.  They  carried  bundles  and  were  very  tired,  but 
they  were  the  daughters  of  officers;  they  marched. 

A  young  woman  with  a  pack  strapped  to  her  back 
trudged  doggedly,  linking  hands  with  a  bevy  of  her  chil 
dren.  A  heavy  woman  with  a  babe  suckling  rode  sidewise 
on  a  white  donkey  led  by  her  husband.  They  might  have 
been  the  Holy  Family  on  their  way  to  Egypt  to  escape  this 
new  Herod  who  was  slaughtering  so  many  innocents.  The 
woman  had  what  the  Germans  call  the  Marienhejt — the 
Holy  Mary  face. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

An  old  man  plodded  alongside  an  old  slaver-lipped 
horse.  A  dog  was  tied  to  the  shafts.  In  the  two-wheeled 
cart  mattresses  and  clothes  were  piled,  and  on  top  of  them 
four  little  children  journeyed.  They  would  have  enjoyed 
the  voyage,  if  they  had  known  where  their  father  and 
mother  had  gone.  The  old  man  was  a  neighbor  only. 

Three  dogs  harnessed  in  troika  fashion  pulled  a  cart  on 
which  a  woman  lay.  Her  husband  walked  alongside  the 
dogs.  These  people  were  lucky.  Husband  and  wife  and 
children  were  well,  and  there  would  soon  be  another  child. 
Forty  thousand  new  children  would  enter  the  Belgian 
world  shortly  after  the  Germans  had  taken  all  the  cows 
and  most  of  the  food  for  mothers. 

Priests  of  various  frocks  mingled  with  the  current. 
Some  of  them  read  their  breviaries,  some  read  this  living 
book  of  Exodus.  Some  led  their  parish  flocks,  and  carried 
the  burdens  of  the  old.  Some  of  them  had  been  kicked 
and  prodded  with  bayonets,  trampled  and  jeered.  They 
had  a  Master  who  set  them  the  example  of  how  to  bear 
Gethsemanes.  They  had  seen  their  monasteries  rifled, 
convents  shelled,  churches  used  for  stables  or  prison-pens, 
altar-cloths  defiled  and  reverend  vessels  choked  with  filth. 
They  wondered  where  God  was  all  this  while.  Their  hearts 
were  murmurous  with  lama  sabachthani. 

A  curious  noise  was  heard  above  the  shuffle  of  feet  and 
the  slap  of  horses'  hoofs.  It  was  like  laughter,  and  yet  very 
unlike.  The  Parcots  looked  up  the  road.  A  muttering 
and  giggling  troop  came,  with  strange  gestures,  strange 
gait,  strange  outcries.  These  had  been  released  from  an 
insane-asylum  that  had  come  under  fire.  Their  keepers 
tried  to  hold  them  in  line  and  darted  here  and  there  like 
collies,  to  thrust  back  any  one  who  tried  to  escape. 

And  so  they  passed.  In  a  mad  world  they  seemed  less 
mad  than  before.  And  so  they  passed. 

The  two  women  named  Parcot  regarded  them  calmly. 
They  had  seen  so  many  strange  things  that  the  faculty  of 
amazement  was  exhausted.  It  all  seemed  quite  natural. 
For  days  they  had  seen  the  same  sort  of  thing.  It  was 
not  a  panic  flight,  but  rather  a  slow,  steady  migration  from 
one  despair  to  another.  The  people  carried  their  bundles 

140 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  valises  till  they  grew  tired,  and  let  them  fall  for 
other  wanderers  to  stumble  over  but  not  to  pick  up. 
What  was  the  use?  Where  was  there  to  go?  The 
movement  was  what  the  cattlemen  of  the  West  call  a 
drift.  There  was  no  stampede,  merely  a  slow,  aimless, 
hopeless  lava-flow. 

The  Parcots  had  worn  their  high  heels  down  and  the 
thin  soles  through.  They  were  covered  with  dust.  They 
were  so  used  to  this  pilgrimage  that  they  rather  wondered  if 
it  were  not  merely  a  dream  that  there  were  countries  where 
soldiers  did  not  burn  villages  and  villagers  did  not  become 
bedouin. 

A  man  carrying  a  baby  sank  down  at  their  side  with 
exhaustion,  spilling  the  baby  on  the  ground.  His  arm  ached 
insufferably.  The  baby  had  ridden  on  it  for  hours.  The 
baby  found  ever  so  many  attractive  things  in  the  rubbish. 
It  did  not  need  much  to  amuse  it.  It  chattered,  held  up  a 
pebble  to  its  father.  It  did  not  know  that  its  mother  was 
lost.  Its  laughter  was  like  the  voice  of  Flecker's  "linnet 
that  had  lost  her  way  and  sang  on  a  blackened  bough  in 
hell." 

A  lone  woman  with  the  eyes  of  an  overdriven  heifer, 
hearing  the  laughter,  laughed  in  a  mocking  echo.  She 
turned  out  of  the  stream  and  sat  down  on  the  ground  by 
the  side  of  the  baby  to  hear  it  gurgle  and  watch  its  fat  little 
hands  and  sprawling  fingers  finding  diamonds  and  pearls 
in  the  dirt.  The  busy  baby  did  not  notice  the  woman,  and 
she  did  not  disturb  its  industrious  preoccupation,  but  she 
turned  to  the  two  Parcots. 

"Ah,  ces  p'tites  chosesf  Moi,  j'en  avais  un,  comme  $a, 
la-bas." 

The  younger  woman,  Alice,  mumbled,  drearily,  "  Vrai- 
ment?" 

She  turned  to  her  mother  and  translated:  "She  says 
that  she  had  a  baby  like  that — back  there — 

"Where  is  it  now?"  said  Mrs.  Parcot.     "Lost?" 

"I'll  ask  her.  Votre  bebt,  madame,  ou  se  trouve-t-il 
maintenant?  J'espere  qvCil  n'est  pas  perdu." 

"Pas  perdu — pas  perdu — mats — mais  il  est  brule  vif!" 

Alice  recoiled. 

141 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Her  mother  demanded,  "What  does  she  say  ?'s 
"It  was  burned  up." 

The  poor  orphan — what  else  is  a  mother  who  has  lost  her 
only  child? — seemed  to  want  to  talk  to  somebody.  In  a 
voice  without  horror,  the  dull  voice  of  lassitude  under 
agony,  she  told  her  story  so  slowly  and  drearily  that  Alice 
could  make  mumbled  translations  of  it  to  her  mother. 

"I  am  Madame  Valckenaers,  veuve  du  feu  Pierre  Valck- 
enaers,  soldier  of  the  King.  He  was  wounded,  you  know, 
in  the  fight  for  Lie"ge.  He  was  brought  back  in  a  cart. 
They  put  him  in  the  Hospital  of  St.  Damien  in  our  village. 
He  was  in  uniform;  our  monks  were  caring  for  him.  I 
took  my  baby  to  see  him,  to  make  him  smile.  Then  the 
Germans  came  into  the  hospital.  They  struck  the  monks. 
They  laughed  at  the  soldiers.  They  tore  the  bandages  off 
to  make  sure  of  the  wounds,  and  left  them  to  bleed.  I 
struggled  to  protect  my  poor  man.  A  soldier  struck  at 
me  with  his  bayonet.  My  little  baby  was  stabbed  in  his 
poor  fat  legs.  I  ran  home  and  I  was  shot  by  the  bullets 
flying  through  the  streets — just  a  little  scratch  here  on  the 
shoulder.  I  tied  up  the  wounds  of  my  poor  baby.  Then 
I  heard  people  marching.  I  looked  out.  I  saw  German 
soldiers  leading  prisoners.  My  husband  was  with  them, 
staggering,  bleeding. 

"I  left  my  baby  in  the  house  and  ran  to  beg  for  my 
husband's  life.  The  soldiers  pushed  me  away,  knocked  me 
in  the  gutter.  They  marched  to  the  banks  of  the  little 
river.  They  made  our  poor  people  stand  there.  Then 
they  shot  them  dead.  The  body  of  my  husband  they  threw 
into  the  river.  They  would  not  let  me  go  near  him  even 
then. 

"I  turned  back  to  my  home.  I  saw  everywhere  fire. 
I  ran,  ran.  The  soldiers  were  dragging  from  the  houses 
wine  and  food  and  pretty  things.  Then  they  set  fire  with 
oil  and  torches.  When  I  reached  my  home  it  was  all  one 
blaze.  From  inside  I  heard  my  baby  crying — crying: 
'  Mamart!  Maman! '  Our  big  dog  is  there ;  he  howls  and 
barks.  I  try  to  break  in.  A  soldier,  drunk  now,  strikes 
me  in  the  face.  I  try  again,  screaming,  'My  baby!  My 

142 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

baby!'  He  cries,  'Maman!  Moment!  I  burn!'  The 
Germans  drive  me  away  again.  No  more  sound  but  the 
flames.  The  roof  falls  in. 

"I  hear  my  baby  crying  always.  In  the  night,  asleep, 
I  reach  for  my  baby.  My  breast  feels  his  lips.  I  wake. 
He  is  not  there,  only  heartache.  I  hear  him  cry.  I  see 
flames.  ...  I  hear  our  dog  barking.  Then  the  roof  falls. 
The  flames  jump  high." 

She  said  it  quietly,  with  a  lethargy  more  terrible  than 
frenzy.  Her  soul  had  frayed  itself  out  with  suffering. 

Alice  bowed  her  head  and,  reaching  for  the  woman's 
hand,  wrung  it  bitterly.  The  young  mother  smiled  and 
said  again: 

"  Toujours  j'entends  sa  voix:  ' Maman!  Maman!'  J' en- 
tends  tou jours  aboyer  noire  pauvre  chien." 

From  such  innocence  fagged  out  with  unearned  punish 
ment  the  women  turned  their  eyes  away.  But  as  far  as  they 
could  reach  they  saw  other  wretches,  each  with  his  curse 
upon  his  innocence. 

It  was  hard  to  believe  what  they  saw  and  knew,  that  this 
horde  of  wanderers  was  a  people  that  had  done  Germany  no 
harm  further  than  to  defend  its  honor  against  the  infamous 
demand  of  a  nation  that  had  guaranteed  its  integrity.  It 
was  hard  to  believe  that  this  was  the  real  world,  that  the 
invaders  claimed  it  a  Holy  War  with  God  ?s  Ally. 

The  baby  playing  at  their  feet  grew  hungry.  It  began 
to  cry:  "Maman!  Maman!"  The  father  tried  to  hush 
the  child.  The  cry  tore  open  his  own  wounds,  but  he  had 
no  food  to  give  it. 

The  baby  clamored  on.  Young  Madame  Valckenaers 
gathered  the  tiny  starveling  up  into  her  lap  and  tried  to 
divert  it  by  cuddling  and  rocking  it  and  tossing  it  in  the 
air.  At  length  she  yielded  to  its  importunities.  The 
Belgian  mothers  make  no  secret  of  that  beautiful  rite. 
The  childless  mother  took  the  motherless  child  to  her 
breast  aching  with  plenty,  and  gave  relief  from  hunger  in 
gaining  respite  from  anguish.  Nature  did  not  know  that 
her  own  baby  was  dead. 

The  baby  fell  asleep  in  the  foster-mother's  arms. 

Dimny's  mother  and  sister  rose,  whispered  her  their 

143 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

farewells,  and  took  up  their  march  again.  As  they  walked 
men  and  women  hailed  them  and  offered  rides  in  their  cars 
or  carts.  But  the  Parcots  shook  their  heads. 

On  their  first  day's  march  they  had  accepted  several  of 
these  invitations,  had  clambered  into  motors  or  wagons, 
only  to  clamber  out  again  to  offer  their  places  to  women 
older  and  still  more  unfortunate  than  they. 

The  Parcots  had  no  plan.  They  moved  by  a  dull  in 
stinct  because  everybody  else  moved.  They  did  not  be 
moan  their  fate,  because  so  many  others  had  the  same  fate 
or  worse.  This  did  not  make  their  lot  easy,  but  it  made 
it  normal,  usual,  natural. 

They  knew  little  except  that  they  did  not  want  to  meet 
any  one  they  knew.  To  go  northerly  implied  England; 
eastward  lay  Germany;  westward  more  of  helpless  Bel 
gium.  If  they  could  reach  France  they  could  hide  them 
selves  in  some  village. 

They  walked  slowly,  buying  food  when  they  could,  ac 
cepting  charity  when  it  was  proffered.  And  eventually 
they  reached  Louvain.  They  came  in  by  the  Aerschot 
road,  past  Kessel-Loo  into  the  Boulevard  de  Diest  to  Sta 
tion  Square  and  up  the  Rue  de  la  Station. 

The  name  of  the  town  did  not  mean  much  to  them  then. 
It  had  been  almost  forgotten  by  the  world,  till  the  Kaiser 
chose  to  make  it  one  of  his  martyr  cities. 

It  seemed  like  heaven  to  the  Parcots  to  find  a  town 
with  the  equipment  of  civilization.  They  went  to  the 
H6tel  de  Suede,  and  had  a  comfortable  room  and  hot 
baths  and  meals.  They  had  known  what  it  was  to  gnaw 
roots,  raw  beets,  dirty  crusts,  and  to  drink  from  muddy 
pools.  They  could  hardly  believe  that  such  a  luxury  as 
cleanliness  had  ever  been  invented.  Mrs.  Parcot  had 
brought  to  Europe  abundant  funds,  but  money  had  been 
of  little  use.  Now  she  and  her  daughter  went  to  the  shops 
and  bought  themselves  clothes,  shoes,  hats.  They  re 
solved  to  rest  at  Louvain  a  long  while. 

But  living  at  the  hotel  was  not  pleasant  for  them  in  the 
unceasing  chaos,  and  they  sought  quieter  lodgings.  Rather 
for  hospitality  than  for  money  they  were  taken  into  the 
home  of  Professor  Tudesq  of  the  university. 

144 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

The  Parcots  saw  little  of  Professor  Tudesq.  He  was 
trying  to  complete  a  manuscript  before  the  Germans  ar 
rived — a  descriptive  catalogue  of  the  eight  hundred  books 
of  which  no  other  copy  existed  in  the  world.  His  wife  and 
daughters  were  full  of  thoughtfulness  for  their  guests. 
Their  sons  were  with  the  Belgian  troops.  The  eldest 
daughter,  Philomene,  had  a  sweetheart  somewhere  in  the 
trenches.  She  was  very  solemn;  but  the  little  girl,  Philo- 
the"e,  was  a  spirit  of  mischief  and  brought  smiles  to  faces 
that  had  lost  the  art,  the  hope,  the  desire  of  smiling. 

Mrs.  Parcot  had  told  her  that  she  was  an  American,  and 
the  child  had  a  myriad  questions  to  ask  which  Alice  had  to 
translate. 

At  the  table  Philothe'e  told  her  father  what  she  had 
gleaned  of  America,  and  he  brought  out  a  volume  of  views. 
He  found  a  picture  of  an  American  flag  and  Philothee 
learned  to  recognize  it  among  the  other  emblems  of  na 
tions.  Alice  taught  her  the  American  name  of  it.  The 
best  she  could  make  of  it  was,  "De  stairs  ant  strah-eep." 
They  laughed  and  wept  to  hear  her  piping  voice  struggling 
with  "De  stair-spengle  bennair." 

"Oh,  seh,  cane  zhoo  see  bah-ee  te  town  zairlee  lah-eet?" 

The  professor  had  heard  that  all  America  had  risen  in 
wrath  to  protest  the  outrage  of  Belgium,  and  that  war 
ships  had  landed  marines  who  had  joined  the  British  and 
French.  He  assured  his  family  that  Louvain  would  see 
them  any  day. 

Troops  came  indeed,  but  they  were  German.  The  horror 
of  their  approach  had  so  chilled  the  air  that  the  burgo 
master  had  ordered  the  populace  to  surrender  all  arms. 
Even  razors  and  old  wall  ornaments  were  turned  in.  The 
professor  gave  up  his  paper-knife. 

On  the  igth  of  August  the  Germans  came  in  with  voices 
chanting,  banners  flying,  and  fifes  and  drums  curdling  the 
air.  The  people  did  not  hail  the  supermen  as  a  host  of  de 
liverance  or  of  mercy,  but  they  were  meek.  They  knew 
too  well  that  the  least  resistance  meant  destruction. 

The  Germans  had  proclaimed  their  willingness  to  punish 
all  for  the  act  of  any.  Alice  Parcot  and  her  mother  slept 
ill  that  night,  shivering  with  nightmares,  repeating  their 

M5 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

old  torments  in  new  instances.  There  was  no  safety  in 
flight  and  there  was  no  place  to  flee.  There  was  one  hope 
only,  that  in  the  obscure  home  of  this  old  scholar  they 
might  hide  unseen. 

The  noise  of  the  soldiers  irritated  Professor  Tudesq  be 
cause  it  prevented  the  concentration  of  his  mind  on  the 
catalogue  at  which  he  wrote  in  vain,  like  another  Archim 
edes  fretting  at  his  task  while  the  city  fell.  He  had  not 
written  long  when  there  was  a  sharp  rapping  at  the  door, 
then  the  thud  of  rifle-butts. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A'yICE  PARCOT  had  been  helping  to  carry  food  and 
bedding  into  the  cellar  against  a  siege  and  bombard 
ment,  for  it  was  reported  that  the  French  were  about  to 
attack  the  Germans.  She  was  just  going  up  the  stairs 
when  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  an  officer  with  a  guard 
of  two  soldiers  burst  in. 

Professor  Tudesq  appeared  below,  emerging  from  his 
study  in  a  rage  at  the  noise.  The  officer's  answer  to  the 
protestations  of  the  old  man  was  to  inform  him  that  his 
house  had  been  selected  for  the  billeting  of  twenty  soldiers 
and  two  officers. 

Tudesq  denounced  the  outrage  and  said  that  his  house 
had  room  for  no  more  than  were  there.  The  officer  ex 
plained  that  the  soldiers  could  sleep  on  the  floor.  He  and 
the  other  officers  would  require  bedrooms,  and  good  ones. 
Where  the  family  slept  was  not  his  concern. 

He  pushed  his  way  into  the  study  and  approved  it. 
He  swept  books  and  manuscripts  from  the  chairs  and  the 
tables  and  from  an  old  couch,  and  ordered  his  men  to  clear 
out  the  rubbish. 

This  was  Tudesq's  holy  of  holies,  and  he  resisted  with  a 
frenzy  that  the  soldiers  found  ridiculous.  Knowing  some 
thing  of  how  to  wound  scholars,  from  being  the  son  of  a 
professor  who  was  now  belying  all  his  scholarship  in 
pamphlets  of  insane  patriotism,  Oberleutnant  Kranzler 
caught  up  the  sacred  manuscript  he  found  on  the  desk 
and  ripped  it  in  two,  then  across  again  and  flung  it  into 
the  air. 

Old  Tudesq,  seeing  his  years  of  labor  annihilated,  leaped 
at  him  with  a  senile  whimper,  but  Kranzler  cuffed  him 
away.  Madame  Tudesq  and  her  daughters  ran  into  the 

i47 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

room,  screaming.  They  were  turned  out  with  fists  and 
boots.  Then  the  old  man  was  flung  into  the  hall. 

Oberleutnant  Kranzler  drew  his  revolver  and  made  the 
rounds  of  the  house.  He  found  Mrs.  Parcot  and  Alice 
in  their  room  and  chose  that  for  himself.  He  murmured  to 
Alice  that  she  might  share  it  with  him. 

When  he  had  finished  his  survey  he  sought  out  Tudesq 
again. 

Kranzler  warned  him  tnat  if  anything  went  wrong,  every 
thing  would  "go  to  smash."  ("Wenn  es  nicht  gut  geht, 
alles  kaput!1')  Kaput  was  the  favorite  word  of  the  day. 
Then  he  marched  into  the  street.  German  Kultur  had 
reached  the  ancient  university  town  and  was  about  to 
civilize  it. 

A  little  later  an  orderly  brought  Kranzler's  baggage  and 
a  score  of  soldiers  established  themselves  on  the  lower 
floor  of  the  house.  That  night  Kranzler  was  too  drunk  to 
confirm  the  terrors  he  had  inspired.  His  soldiers  and 
brother  officers  made  merry  on  confiscated  wine,  as  any 
pirate  crew.  They  had  had  orders  to  move  on  to  the 
battle  front  the  next  day  and  they  were  rehearsing  for 
what  they  would  do  to  Paris  on  their  arrival.  They  were 
coming  as  the  avenging  angels  of  the  Lord  to  punish  that 
vile  and  wicked  city. 

They  left  the  Tudesq  house  in  a  loathsome  state;  bottles, 
cigar  stumps,  broken  chairs,  wrecked  heirlooms,  and  filth 
were  everywhere.  Also,  with  the  astonishing  sense  of 
coprophilous  humor,  that  marked  their  sojourn  in  churches, 
chateaux,  and  homesteads,  they  had  in  a  spirit  of  careful 
irony  played  jokes  with  ordure.  The  beast  can  be  traced 
by  its  spoor. 

Other  troops  came  up.  Other  officers  and  soldiers  were 
quartered  on  the  town  and  on  the  Tudesq  manage.  But 
now  once  more  the  Parcots  were  to  learn  that  nothing 
human  is  perfect,  not  even  German  efficiency. 

For  one  of  the  unbidden  guests  was  a  Captain  Ripp- 
mann,  who  apologized  for  troubling  his  hosts,  and  kept  his 
soldiers  in  order  and  sobriety,  to  their  intense  disgust. 
Other  officers  went  so  far  as  to  have  a  soldier  or  two  exe 
cuted  for  the  mere  offense  of  rape.  Rippmann  was  dis- 

148 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

gusted  by  what  a  German  eulogist  had  praised  as  "the 
spirit  that  streamed  out  of  the  German  folk-soul  shaken 
to  its  depths." 

Rippmann  tried  to  make  friends  with  Philothee,  but  she 
feared  him  utterly.  She  had  seen  many  children  mal 
treated  and  she  had  seen  her  father  insulted  and  mauled. 
Whenever  Rippmann  spoke  to  her  she  put  up  her  hands 
and  trembled. 

Rippmann's  smile  was  to  her  what  the  wolf's  was  to 
Red  Riding-Hood.  But  he  had  children  of  his  own  at 
home  in  East  Prussia  and  he  feared  what  the  Russian 
hordes  might  do  to  them.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  he 
could  ward  off  danger  from  them  by  a  vicarious  kindness. 

He  tried  to  tell  Philothe'e  of  his  own  babies.  He  pleaded 
with  her:  " Bitte,  Kindchen,  sei  nicht  unartige!  Foulez-fous 
fenir  a  may,  mon  ongfong?  Che  suis  pere  d'une  petite  feel 
yoost  comme  fous." 

He  tried  to  bribe  her  with  sweets,  but  she  shivered  and 
thrust  her  hands  higher  till  he  cried  in  anguish: 

"Ach  Gott,  lass  dock!     Furchte  nichts!" 

But  she  did  not,  or  could  not,  understand. 

He  ran  to  her,  pressed  down  her  uplifted  little  hands, 
knelt  by  her  side  to  implore  her  friendship.  She  fell  in  a 
faint  across  his  arm. 

That  same  day  Professor  Tudesq  was  carried  off  as  a 
hostage  after  the  usual,  infinitely  repeated  scenes  of  strug 
gle  with  frantic  women  and  children,  the  monotonous 
bruising  and  slashing  of  gentle  bodies,  the  torment  of 
breaking  hearts. 

The  children  of  the  town  were  taught  at  their  parents' 
knees  to  fear  the  field -gray  uniform  and  offer  it  every  rever 
ence.  But  their  little  hearts  boiled  with  primeval  impu 
dence,  and  resentment  filled  them  for  what  their  parents 
had  accepted. 

When  the  German  backs  were  turned,  even  Philothe'e 
forgot  her  terror  and  made  faces  at  them.  Sometimes  she 
just  had  to  shout  names  at  them  from  concealment.  She 
had  two  languages  to  choose  from.  Alice  heard  her  once 
shrieking  from  the  window  at  a  passing  troop,  whose  fife- 
music  drowned  her  own : 

149 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Leeliken,  vuile,  smeerige  Duytschkoppen!" 

Alice  snatched  her  backward  and  asked  her  what  such 
wild  words  might  mean.  She  translated  them  into  French 
as:  "Ugly,  dirty,  filthy,  German  pates!"  She  begged  Alice 
to  teach  her  what  they  would  be  in  American,  so  that  she 
could  call  them  those,  too. 

Alice  gasped,  "Where  do  you  hear  such  words?"  and 
commanded  her  never  to  use  them  again,  lest  she  endan 
ger  the  whole  family. 

Philothee  promised,  and  kept  her  promise  in  the  letter, 
if  not  the  spirit.  She  had  been  an  irreconcilable  from  her 
cradle  days,  and,  having  forsworn  childish  profanity,  she 
had  to  think  up  some  other  weapon  of  protest. 

The  children  of  Louvain,  like  other  children,  used  to 
celebrate  certain  festivals  with  kalotjes,  tiny  torpedoes,  little 
crackers,  to  scare  people  with.  Philothee  acquired  a  sup 
ply  somehow,  and  one  day,  seeing  a  squad  of  Duytschkoppen 
marching  down  the  street  of  the  Joyeuses-Entrees,  she 
flung  a  handful  of  these  from  the  window  and  ducked  her 
head. 

The  Germans  were  in  such  a  state  of  nerves  from  the 
expectation  of  francs-tireurs,  and  from  the  stories  of  Bel 
gian  savagery,  that  these  sharp  little  explosions  under  their 
very  feet  startled  the  patrol  into  a  ludicrous  panic.  Every 
man  Hans  of  them  dropped  to  the  ground  and  looked  about 
for  the  franc-tireur  who  had  trained  a  machine-gun  at  them 
from  some  church  tower.  They  studied  the  roofs  and  the 
facades;  only  one  window  was  open. 

The  Unteroffizier  gave  the  command  to  fire  a  volley 
through  it.  The  broken  glass  fell  about  PhilotheVs  low 
ered  head  without  damage  to  her.  The  bullets  splashed 
and  crashed.  One  of  them  broke  a  mirror  in  Captain 
Rippmann's  room. 

Captain  Rippmann  was  in  the  room.  He  ran  down 
stairs  and  met  the  soldiers  at  the  door.  They  explained 
the  attack.  He  searched  the  rooms  and  found  Philothee 
cowering  behind  the  window  with  more  ammunition.  She 
was  laughing  like  a  pixie.  He  laughed,  too,  as  he  con 
fiscated  her  store. 

He  showed  the  soldiers  the  Spielzeug  that  had  frightened 

150 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

them,  and  they  moved  on,  loving  the  Belgians  no  better, 
sullen  with  humiliation. 

The  explosion  of  a  motor  tire  was  enough  to  throw  them 
into  the  position  of  defense.  The  tension  increased.  The 
French  were  reported  advancing. 

On  another  day  spy-hunters,  who  had  been  warned  of 
the  presence  of  two  strange  women  in  the  house,  came 
knocking  at  the  door  and  demanding  information  as  to  the 
guests. 

While  they  questioned  Madame  Tudesq  and  her  elder 
daughter,  Philom&ne,  the  little  Philothe'e  stole  up  the  stairs 
and  warned  Alice  and  her  mother  of  the  visitors.  This 
gave  them  time,  unfortunately,  to  consider,  and  in  their 
panic  they  decided  that  they  would  give  false  names,  lest 
word  of  them  be  sent  to  the  American  embassy,  from 
which  they  wished  to  hide.  They  selected  at  random  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Parcot's  family,  Judson. 

A  brisk  rap  at  the  door  barely  preceded  the  entrance  of 
the  German  officer,  a  tall,  keen  man,  whose  fierce  eyes 
defied  the  shame  he  felt.  He  could  never  forget  that  he  had 
once  reached  the  height  of  a  lieutenant-colonelcy  before  his 
gambling  debts  had  broken  him  and  caused  his  shift  from 
the  cavalry  to  the  infantry  and  finally  to  the  spy-bureau. 
His  wife  had  divorced  him  and  taken  his  children.  He  was 
fierce  against  the  world. 

His  subordin  tes  gave  him  his  courtesy  title  of  Oberst- 
leutnant  Klemm,  but  he  suffered  hells  of  wrath  at  being 
out  of  command  at  such  a  time.  He  had  a  grievance  against 
his  own  soul,  against  his  superiors,  and  against  everybody. 
He  cursed  his  gambler  heart  in  secret.  He  could  not  inveigh 
against  his  superiors,  therefore  his  underlings  and  foreign 
ers  bore  the  brunt  of  his  manifold  grudges. 

He  was  not  destined  for  the  honorable  wounds  of  war; 
even  the  scar  upon  his  face  was  the  memorial  of  nothing 
more  than  a  student  duel  that  had  cost  him  the  tip  of  his 
left  ear  and  a  seam  across  his  cheek. 

He  stared  at  the  women  in  surprise.  Madame  Tudesq 
had  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  them  except  that  their 
name  was  Parcot  and  they  had  come  as  refugees.  The 
name  had  led  him  to  expect  French  or  Belgian  women.  He 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

saw  at  a  glance,  in  spite  of  their  Louvain-bought  clothes, 
that  they  were  Anglo-Saxon. 

"  Engidnderinnen?"  he  demanded. 

"  Amerikanerinnen,"  said  Alice,  who  knew  a  little  German. 

"  Alles  gleich!"  Klemm  sneered.     "  Wie  heissen  Sie?" 

"Judson." 

"Yootzohn!     Das  heisse  ich  lugen!" 

Alice  did  not  know  that  he  gave  her  the  lie.  She  mum 
bled,  "Bittef" 

He  broke  out  in  English,  "You  say  your  name  is  Yoot 
zohn?" 

"Judson,  yes." 

"Chutson.  Warum — w'y  den — then! — dit  Madame  Du- 
tesq  say  your  name  is  Parcot?" 

Helplessness  caught  in  a  clumsy  effort  at  deceit  makes  a 
sorry  showing.  Alice  and  her  mother  flushed,  blenched, 
glanced  at  each  other,  and  said  nothing. 

It  was  the  best  answer,  for  Klemm  was  flattered  by  his 
own  success  and  mollified  a  little. 

He  asked  for  their  papers,  passports,  letters  of  identifica 
tion.  They  had  nothing.  They  explained  that  they  had 
lost  in  the  burning  of  the  convent  at  Dofnay  everything 
but  what  they  had  worn  in  their  flight,  and  they  had  worn 
that  out. 

His  voice  gradually  ceased  to  snarl;  he  roared  more  and 
more  gently.  His  eyes  lost  the  flame  of  hatred,  and,  un 
derstanding  how  resourceless  Alice  was,  he  found  her  more 
and  more  attractive. 

He  had  been  absent  from  those  famous  pillages;  he  had 
been  late  to  the  sacking  of  towns  and  cities.  He  had  not 
captured  even  a  piano  for  his  Berlin  quarters.  But  here 
was  an  undiscovered  treasure.  Why  should  he  not  accept 
this  perquisite? 

He  turned  to  his  assistants  and  bade  them  search  the 
room  and  question  Madame  Parcot  or  Judson  or  who 
ever  zum  Teufel  she  was.  He  said  he  wished  to  question 
the  daughter  separately  and  then  compare  the  answers  of 
the  two  women. 

The  under-officers  could  hardly  hide  their  grins  behind 
their  salutes. 

152 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Klemm  motioned  Alice  to  follow  him  and  led  her  into 
the  next  room  with  a  martial  frown  that  he  doffed  for  his 
most  winning  smile  as  soon  as  he  had  closed  the  door  upon 
her. 

"Sit  yourself  town,  pleass,"  he  said,  bringing  forward  a 
chair,  "and  not  to  be  afrait  of  me,  please.  I  have  been  in 
America  much.  I  love  America.  I  would  be  frients  vit  all 
American  laties,  especial  so  pretty  ones  as  you. 

"Dis — this — I  have  almost  forgotten  how  to  speak  that 
verflucht  tey-ha —  This  Louvain  is  a  bat  place  for  a 
foreigner  like  you  laties.  Any  moment  now  comes  the 
crash.  It  would  be  goot  for  you  to  have  a  nize  frient. 
But  you  must  geeve  to  me  your  frientship — and  confidence, 
nicht  wahr?" 

Alice  looked  at  him,  and  looked  away.  He  did  not 
inspire  confidence.  She  had  no  confidence  left  for  anybody 
or  anything  in  the  world  or  out  of  it. 

"Feerst,"  he  went  on,  "for  why  you  are  here  and  not  to 
seek  your  American  consul?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Ve — we  Chermans  inseest  to  know  who  goes  where  and 
why.  Always  man  must  make  his  registeringk  by  the 
Polizei.  In.  enemy  country  like  this  where  the  Belgian 
cannibals  make  such  treachery  by  us,  the  more  reason 
we  must  know,  versteht  sick! 

"  I  can  be  very  bat  for  you  and  your  nize  moot'er.  But 
if  you  goingk  to  be  frients  by  me — 

He  reached  down  and  took  her  hand.  She  did  not 
struggle.  He  clasped  his  other  hand  over  it.  She  closed 
her  eyes  and  sighed  in  utter  resignation.  In  unconscious 
mockery,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  sighed  in  utter  satisfaction. 

He  drew  her  nearer,  bent  and  clipped  her  in  his  arms,  and 
lifted  her  to  his  breast  with  ruthless  force. 

He  laughed  at  the  sight  of  her  sweet  face  under  his  eyes. 
He  paused  to  gloat  over  her  white,  meek  beauty.  His 
whole  being  recked  with  delight  and  he  cried  out  an  old 
poem  of  Geibel's: 

"Nun  lasset  die  Glocken  von   Turni  zu  Turm 
Durchs  Land  frohlocken  im  Jubelslurm." 

11  153 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"You  understant  me?  My  heart  is  full  of  bells  ringkink 
in  storms  of  choy.  You  shall  love  me,  Mees  Parcot — 
Ybotzohn  or  whoever.  Say,  you  goingk  love  me.  You 
don't  make  answer.  You  are  afrait  yet.  So  youngk  you 
are.  Am  I  the  feerst  who  holds  you?  Say  I  am  even  if  I 
am  not  it.  Tell  me  I  am  the  feerst.  You  don't  say! 
Yet  I  am  the  feerst  Cherman.  Dat  I  do  know — I  can  tell. 
Say  it  and  geeve  me  de  feerst  Kusslein  auf  Deutsch." 

She  shook  her  head  and  murmured  with  a  ghastly  smile 
in  which  there  was  a  kind  of  hideous  triumph  of  degradation: 

"You  are  not  the  first,  nor  the  twentieth.  I  was  at 
Dofnay  when  the  Thuringians  were  there,  and  then,  after 
they  left,  another  regiment  came  to  Dofnay.  You  are  too 
late.  That  is  why  we  do  not  go  to  America,  my  mother 
and  I." 

He  stared  at  her  and  understood.  He  stared  as  if  she 
had  the  plague  and  he  had  touched  her  and  could  not  let 
her  go.  The  door  opened  and  Captain  Rippmann  walked 
in.  It  was  his  room. 

Klemm's  muscles  returned  the  captain's  salute  and  freed 
him  from  Alice.  She  dropped  back  into  the  chair  he  had 
placed  for  her  and  fell  to  giggling. 

Klemm  thought  that  she  had  played  a  trick.  He  could 
have  struck  her  with  his  fist,  but  Rippmann  was  standing 
there  awaiting  an  answer  to  his  sarcastic  apology  for 
"intruding"  in  his  own  room. 

Klemm  explained  only  that  he  was  on  a  visit  of  inquiry. 
Rippmann's  smile  was  icy  with  discredit,  and  Klemm  took 
his  leave,  called  his  men  from  Mrs.  Parcot's  room,  and 
left  the  house. 

Outside  in  the  street  he  paused:  one  of  his  assistants 
ventured  to  ask  if  he  cared  to  compare  the  answers  they 
had  received  from  the  Frau  with  the  answers  he  had 
received  from  the  Fraulein. 

Klemm  ordered  him  to  "halt  his  muzzle"  and  moved 
on,  but  he  stumbled  because  he  looked  over  his  left  shoulder 
as  he  went  down  the  Rue  des  Joyeuses-Entre'es.  He 
wanted  to  turn  back.  He  vowed  that  he  would  go  back, 
soon,  alone. 

Alice,  seeing  him  gone,  rose  and  went  to  her  room  without 

154 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

explaining.  She  was  laughing  a  soft  laugh  that  made 
Rippmann's  blood  run  chill.  When  she  reached  her 
mother's  arms  her  laughter  made  that  little  infinite  change 
to  weeping. 

Perhaps  it  was  on  that  very  day  that  Dimny,  in  Los 
Angeles,  waiting  for  her  singing-lesson  was  saying  to  an 
other  girl,  "It's  funny,  mother's  not  sending  word  that 
she  has  sailed."  She  pouted  about  it.  "She  and  Alice 
are  having  such  an  exciting  time  in  London,  I  suppose,  that 
they  never  think  of  me." 

Her  friend's  comment  was,  "It  must  be  gorgeous  to  be 
over  there  so  close  to  the  war." 

"Gorgeous!"  Dimny  groaned.  "Wouldn't  it  be  just 
my  luck  to  be  out  of  it!" 

Dimny  was  then  only  a  petulant  child  in  experience. 
The  war  meant  to  her  hardly  more  than  a  great  and  gory 
football  game  she  had  missed.  The  letter  that  was  to 
end  her  youth  in  a  moment  and  turn  all  the  roses  of  Cali 
fornia  black  for  her  was  still  reposing  in  a  mountain  of  mail- 
bags  held  up  by  the  chaos  at  the  ports  of  Europe. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ALICE  and  her  mother  and  the  Tudesqs  had  not  even 
the  old  professor  to  give  them  a  semblance  of  protec 
tion  now  from  the  increasing  riot  in  the  air  of  Louvain. 
Their  only  safeguard  was  such  chivalry  as  they  might 
expect  from  Rippmann,  and  he  was  growing  haggard  with 
the  strain  of  hatred  and  terror  in  the  air. 

Drunkenness  was  everywhere.  Looting  went  on  openly. 
Stolen  wagons  were  loaded  with  pillage  and  sent  back  to 
Germany.  Seven  million  cigars  were  taken,  wine-bottles 
by  the  thousand.  The  streets  glittered  with  breakage. 
Officers'  wives  and  mistresses  came  to  town  to  make  their 
selections.  The  music-loving  German  nature  showed  itself 
handsomely  in  the  number  of  pianos  that  were  confiscated 
and  shipped  away.  The  commandant  of  the  53d  Landwehr 
Infantry  had  to  forbid  the  use  of  military  carts  for  loot. 
In  Station  Square  the  officers  held  a  barbecue  in  the  pres 
ence  of  corpses  still  unburied. 

In  free  countries  the  soldiery  exist  to  protect  the  people; 
in  Germany  the  people  seemed  to  exist  to  exalt  the  soldiery. 
The  Kaiser  himself  had  put  his  army  close  up  to  his  Christly 
self  in  sanctity. 

It  would  be  cruel  and  unjust  to  expect  German  soldiers 
to  be  more  polite  to  the  citizens  of  a  foreign  city  than  they 
were  to  the  citizens  at  home.  They  have  been  accused 
of  almost  every  other  injustice,  but  they  have  never  been 
reproached  with  that  partiality. 

There  was  another  crime  they  were  guiltless  of,  the 
German  crime  that  their  prophet  Treitschke  called  "the 
unpardonable  sin  in  politics,  the  sin  against  the  holy  ghost 
of  statecraft — weakness."  They  were  innocent  of  human 
weakness. 

156 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Indeed,  they  made  themselves  so  odious  that  the  people 
almost  suffocated  with  the  martyrdom  of  enduring  them. 
The  officer  in  charge  of  the  garrison,  the  Etappen  Kom- 
mandantur,  was  named  "Man-devil,"  as  if  the  fates  had 
stooped  to  a  pun.  Von  Manteuffel  rather  stressed  the 
latter  half  of  the  combination  and  earned  himself  in  Louvain 
a  fame  he  never  equaled  in  the  field.  Battles  round  St.- 
Quentin  did  not  quell  the  feeling  that  England  was  about 
to  make  an  attack.  The  Belgians  actually  did  advance  in 
a  sortie  from  Antwerp  as  far  as  Marines. 

The  Germans  could  not  understand  the  Belgian  inability 
to  learn  a  lesson.  They  had  made  Pompeiis  wherever  they 
went,  and  still  the  people  did  not  love  them.  If  these 
villages  were  so  unconquerable  even  after  they  were  con 
quered,  what  would  Paris  be  like  when  they  got  it,  in  a 
week  or  two  ? 

It  was  necessary  to  give  the  French  an  object-lesson  as 
well  as  the  Belgians.  As  an  officer  told  the  Secretary  of  the 
American  Legation  in  Brussels,  Hugh  Gibson,  when  he 
reached  Louvain  during  the  height  of  the  devastation: 
"We  shall  make  this  place  a  desert.  We  shall  wipe  it  out 
so  that  it  will  be  hard  to  find  where  Louvain  used  to  stand. 
For  generations  people  will  come  here  to  see  what  we  have 
done,  and  it  will  teach  them  to  respect  Germany  and  to 
think  twice  before  they  resist  her.  Not  one  stone  on 
another,  I  tell  you — kein  Stein  auf  einander!" 

People  thought  twice  and  thrice  and  a  thousand  times. 
The  more  and  longer  they  thought  the  more  impossible 
it  became  to  respect  Germany  or  to  cease  to  resist  her 
while  one  soul  could  stand  by  another. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  August  25th,  the  tenth  day  after 
the  arrival  of  Alice  and  her  mother  there,  that  the  destruc 
tion  began.  And  on  the  evening  of  the  day  that  Oberst- 
leutnant  Klemm  left  Alice. 

The  Rue  des  Joyeuses-Entrdes  was  the  scene  of  some  of 
the  earliest  slaughter.  Fusillades  broke  out  after  dark  that 
night.  Shouts  of  command,  cries  of  terror,  moans  of  the 
dying  threw  the  Tudesq  home  into  panic.  Massacre  was 
to  be  added  to  insult.  The  Tudesq  family  and  the  Parcots 
hurried  down  to  their  cellar  refuge  and  stayed  there, 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

while  in  the  street  outside  there  was  a  new  enactment  of 
St.  Bartholomew's  Eve. 

The  next  day  a  solitary  drummer  went  thumping  through 
the  street,  and  with  him  was  a  police  officer  acting  as  town- 
crier  and  calling  upon  people  "not  to  flee  from  the  city,  as 
there  was  no  danger  and  there  would  be  no  more  fires." 

The  Tudesqs  and  the  Parcots  went  up  on  the  roof  and 
saw  a  heavy  pall  of  smoke,  and  flames  leaping  through 
them.  Then  more  fusillades,  and  fresh  fires  started.  In 
deed,  the  definite  plan  was  now  under  way  to  make  a  pyre 
of  Lou  vain.  System  and  efficiency  were  shown  even  here, 
but  the  town  was  made  up  of  slow-burning  materials  in 
almost  fire-proof  walls. 

For  reasons  of  various  sorts  various  houses  were  spared, 
among  them  the  H6tel-de-Ville,  occupied  as  an  adminis~ 
trative  building  by  the  Germans.  On  the  buildings  dis 
honored  by  their  mercy  they  fixed  posters  that  would  have 
amused  the  arch-fiend.  "  This  house  is  to  be  spared.  It  is 
positively  forbidden  to  enter  or  set  fire  to  houses  without 
the  authority  of  the  Kommandant."  This  was  the  official 
form  of  these  chalked  scrawls  written  on  a  few  homes 
here  and  there  by  the  grateful  soldiers.  "Cute  Leute. 
Nickt  plundern" 

All  that  day  and  all  that  night  and  all  the  next  day  and 
night  men,  women,  and  children  were  wounded  and  killed 
and  homes  looted,  smashed,  given  to  the  flames.  Drunken 
sentinels  sat  in  arm-chairs  in  the  street.  Patrols  went  here 
and  there  on  bloody  business.  The  specially  equipped  in 
cendiary  troops  with  their  pastilles  of  combustive  powder 
and  their  syringes  of  inflammatory  fluid  carried  out  their 
orders.  In  some  parts  of  the  town,  frenzied  batches  of 
Louvain  men  dared  to  fight  back  and  inflict  a  little  re 
venge.  From  the  gates  of  the  town  fugitives  streamed 
along  the  roads  in  another  of  the  countless  chapters  of 
Exodus. 

Captain  Rippmann  came  that  morning  to  remove  his 
effects,  and  he  advised  his  Quartierswirten  to  leave  the 
doomed  city.  His  face  was  dark  with  smoke  and  his  eyes 
bloodshot.  He  did  not  inspire  trust.  He  dared  not 
criticize  his  orders.  When  Madame  Tudesq  pleaded  with 

158 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

him  to  secure  the  release  of  her  husband,  he  confessed  his 
helplessness.  She  refused  to  desert  the  father  of  her  chil 
dren.  The  Parcots,  having  experienced  the  luxuries  of  life 
along  the  roads,  preferred  to  stay  where  they  were. 

So  Captain  Rippmann  left  them  and  returned  to  obey  his 
orders.  A  few  hours  later  he  lay  dead  on  his  face  in  the 
streets,  with  a  misguided  German  bullet  in  his  back.  The 
German  God  had  been  too  busy  to  take  care  of  every 
drunkard's  rifle. 

During  the  afternoon  little  Philothe'e  escaped  from  the 
black  hole  of  the  cellar.  She  was  missed  at  length,  because 
of  her  silence.  There  was  wild  alarm  when  it  was  realized 
that  she  was  gone.  Her  adventurous  soul  might  have  car 
ried  her  to  any  excursion  against  the  German  army. 

Her  mother  was  for  dashing  out  in  search  of  her,  but  the 
Parcots  restrained  her.  And  then  Philothec  came  pell- 
mell  down  from  the  roof,  crying: 

"Maman!  Mees  Par  cot,  je  suis  monte  sur  les  toits  et  la~ 
haut  j'ai  vu — j'ai  vu  le  '  Stair-spengle  Bannair'!" 

"Non!     Non!" 

"Mais  ouil  Mais  oui!  Les  Americains  sont  arrives. 
Les  Americains!" 

She  began  to  shriek,  "Oh,  seh  cane  zhoo  see!" 

The  women  went  up  the  stairs  like  driven  sheep.  The 
skies  were  rolling  with  billows  of  smoke,  scintillant  with 
sparks  and  with  shooting  stars  of  flaming  embers.  From 
the  Library  an  upward  snow  of  blazing  pages  swirled. 
Madame  Tudesq  understood  that  first,  and,  being  a  scholar's 
wife,  suffered  a  thunderbolt  of  horror.  Being  a  religious 
woman,  when  she  saw  smoke  pouring  from  the  cathedral 
of  Saint  Pierre  that  had  stood  nearly  five  hundred  years  in 
honor,  she  fell  to  her  knees  in  prayer. 

But  Philothee  led  Philomene  and  Alice  and  her  mother 
to  the  coping  of  the  roof,  and  pointed  her  little  forefinger 
down  the  hazy  street  to  the  crossing  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Station.  And  there,  indeed,  was  a  motor-car  held  in 
check  by  the  debris  and  by  a  group  of  gesticulating  officers 
and  soldiers.  And  the  car  flew  two  small  standards — one 
of  them  the  white  flag  of  truce  and  the  other  the  blessed 
Stars  and  Stripes. 

159 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Voila!  Voila!"  shrieked  Philothee.  "Maintenant,  qui 
m'accuse  d'en  mentir?  Qui?  Qui?  Qiri?" 

Only  a  moment  the  banner  bloomed  before  the  eyes  of 
the  Parcots,  for  tears  effaced  it.  They  kissed  each  other, 
and  dried  each  the  other's  tears,  and  clung  together,  while 
their  hearts  ached  with  love  of  their  rescuing  country. 

They  believed  for  one  rich  moment  t1  at  America  had 
arrived  upon  the  battle-field.  They  forgot  their  vows  of 
self-expatriation.  They  waved  their  handkerchiefs  and 
cried.  But  a  sweep  of  smoke  and  stinging  cinders  flung  a 
flag  of  evil  about  them.  And  when  they  could  see  the 
street  again,  the  car  had  moved  on. 

And  no  more  cars  followed  it,  no  troops,  no  soldiery 
except  the  scattered  groups  of  the  pillagers  resuming  their 
trade  and  laughing  at  the  lonely  visitor  from  America. 
It  was  Hugh  Gibson  from  Brussels,  with  Mr.  Blount,  a^o 
of  the  American  legation,  and  a  Swede  and  a  Mexican. 

But  now  a  flying  torch  of  fire  landed  on  the  roof  where 
Alice  and  her  mother  stood,  a  bombardment  of  cinders 
came  on  the  wind,  and  drove  them  down. 

They  took  one  last  look  from  the  roof,  and  saw  an  old 
man  running  furtively. 

Philothe'e  cried,  "Papa!  Papa!  il  est  revenu!" 

His  wife  ran  to  see,  and  cried  down  to  him.  But  soldiers 
came  round  the  corner  in  pursuit.  They  fired  as  he  ran. 
A  bullet  brought  him  to  his  knees.  His  I. at  fell  from  his 
white  hair. 

While  Madame  Tudesq  and  her  daughters  wrung  their 
hands  and  stared,  the  soldiers  came  up  and  drove  their 
bayonets  into  his  back.  One  of  the  bayonets  stuck,  and 
the  soldier  set  foot  on  the  old  man  and  drew  it  free,  then 
wiped  the  bayonet  with  his  hand,  took  a  loaf  of  cake  from 
his  pocket,  and  followed  the  others,  munching. 

The  women  ran  down  from  the  roof  and  out  into  the 
street,  careless  of  danger.  Madame  Tudesq  fell  t  n  both 
knees  and  caught  to  her  breast  the  white-haired  lad  that 
she  had  married  nearly  half  a  century  before.  He  opened 
his  eyes  and  murmured  the  sacred  name  of  the  Library! 

"La  Bibliothdque!     Ala  mie!     La  Bibliothdque!" 

1 60 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

His  ancient  wife,  herself  a  library  of  his  thoughts,  under 
stood  and  wept  for  that  as  for  him.  Philomene  sought  to 
stanch  his  wounds  and  tried  to  speak  courage  and  hope, 
but  little  Philothee  saw  only  the  hopelessness  of  redeeming 
the  naughtinesses  of  her  past.  She  flung  herself  at  her 
father's  side,  kissing  the  withered  parchment  of  his  hand 
and  wailing: 

"Papa!  Papa!  tu  vas  mourir.  Pardonne  ta  p'tite  Philo 
si  je  t'aifais  de  la  peine." 

He  tried  to  smile  that  understanding  which  is  better  than 
forgiveness.  He  died  on  that  smile. 

Mrs.  Parcot  and  Alice  persuaded  the  frantic  women  to 
return  to  the  house.  They  were  helping  to  carry  the 
riddled  body  of  the  old  scholar  within-doors  when  a  detail 
of  incendiary  troops  came  up  and  ordered  them  to  drop 
the  body  and  get  out  of  the  street.  One  of  the  soldiers 
nudged  Philothee  and  pointed  to  the  blazing  houses,  saying, 
"  See  the  pretty  fireworks."  She  drew  herself  up  in  scorn. 

But  Madame  Tudesq  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  corporal 
in  charge  of  the  detachment  and  begged  for  mercy.  Her 
old  hands  seized  his  belt;  on  its  well-polished  buckle  was 
the  Kaiser's  crown  and  cross  and  the  encircling  legend, 
"Gott  mit  «ws." 

The  corporal  wrenched  the  woman's  hands  loose  and 
thrust  her  backward.  At  his  orders  one  of  his  men  lifted 
her  to  her  feet  and  the  other  women  and  the  child  were 
driven  from  the  professor's  body. 

Two  of  his  men  stepped  across  the  body  and  entered  the 
house  to  make  choice  of  its  contents  before  they  set  it  on 
fire.  The  women  were  not  there  to  see  the  first  flaming 
curtain  writhing  at  the  window.  They  were  shoved  forward 
into  the  Rue  de  la  Station,  where  a  herd  of  citizens  was 
being  forced  toward  the  railway  square. 

On  both  sides  of  the  avenue  the  buildings  were  aflame 
or  being  set  on  fire.  The  air  of  Louvain  had  tasted  of 
burning  for  days,  but  now  it  was  hot  and  choking  and  the 
smoke  filled  the  eyes  and  the  lungs.  It  seemed  that  the  end 
of  the  world  had  come  and  the  fiends  from  the  pit  were 
hastening  its  destruction. 

As  Alice  and  her  mother  entered  the  station  square  they 

161 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

passed  the  car  with  the  American  flag  still  fluttering. 
It  stood  among  the  German  military  cars  in  park  there. 
But  it  was  empty  and  they  assumed  that  the  occupants  had 
been  killed  or  taken  prisoner.  It  was  a  reasonable  assump 
tion  enough,  for  machine-guns  were  clattering  and  volleys 
from  a  few  desperate  Belgians  established  in  certain  houses 
were  inflicting  some  slight  punishment  on  the  Germans. 

But  Mr.  Gibson  and  his  party  were  at  the  time  in  the 
shelter  of  the  station,  and  presently  they  would  make 
their  way  out  of  Louvain  and  return  to  Brussels,  dazed  by 
what  they  had  seen. 

The  crusaders  for  Kultur  shepherded  this  herd  with  the 
same  gentleness  their  allies  the  Turks  showed  to  the 
doomed  Armenians  a  little  later.  Indeed,  the  Turks  gave 
their  masters  full  credit  for  that  inspiration  and  called 
their  own  ruthlessness  "the  teaching  of  the  Germans "- 
"  Ta'alim  el  Aleman." 

Hundreds  of  men,  women,  and  children  of  all  classes  and 
ages  were  crowded  into  the  Louvain  station  and  great 
numbers  of  them  were  driven  aboard  trains  to  be  carried 
to  Germany.  Others  were  released  the  next  morning  and 
permitted  to  join  the  torrents  of  humanity  pouring  out 
along  the  roads  across  the  fields  to  other  hapless  towns. 

The  Parcots  and  the  Tudesqs  were  among  those  ordered 
into  one  of  the  trains,  made  up  of  cattle-trucks.  Eighty 
or  ninety  others  were  driven  into  the  same  car  in  spite  of 
their  cries  of  protest  and  their  struggles  to  escape  when  they 
found  that  the  cars  had  not  been  cleaned  since  their  last 
load  of  cattle. 

It  was  a  masterpiece  of  contempt,  another  bit  of  Teutonic 
scatological  humor. 

This  foul  derision  could  not  be  surpassed,  but  there  was 
no  dearth  of  further  torments.  The  trucks  stood  in  the 
station  all  that  night,  and  neither  food  nor  water  was 
furnished  the  nauseated  prisoners.  Sleep  was  impossible. 
There  was  not  room  even  if  one  had  dared  to  lie  down. 

The  Parcots  and  the  Tudesqs  were  crowded  against  the 
side  of  their  car.  They  hung  there,  supporting  their  weight 
as  best  they  could  by  clinging  to  the  timbers.  Grief,  ter 
ror,  fatigue,  chill,  and  nausea  took  heavy  toll  of  them. 

162 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

In  the  bleak  daybreak  of  the  next  morning  the  train- 
load  of  Belgian  cattle  suddenly  started,  with  a  lurch  that 
sent  all  the  haggard  passengers  hurtling  to  the  end  of  the 
car  in  a  hurly-burly.  They  re-established  themselves  as 
best  they  could,  but  as  the  speed  increased  and  curves  were 
rounded  there  were  constant  swirls  and  eddies  of  bodies 
among  bodies;  women,  children,  and  men  fell  and  slithered 
in  the  muck  and  were  trampled.  They  were  so  repulsive 
that  they  were  left  to  pick  themselves  up,  sobbing  with  their 
dreadful  estate. 

Now  and  then  the  train  would  stop  for  hours  at  villages, 
or  in  the  open  fields  where  icy  winds  went  among  the 
wretches  like  razors  cutting  the  flesh.  Hunger  and  thirst 
grew  to  be  maddening. 

But  there  was  a  worse  madness.  They  were  not  allowed 
to  leave  the  car  for  any  purpose  at  any  time.  For  four  days 
and  nights  they  were  huddled  there,  decent  men  and  women 
and  children  of  breeding.  The  first  delicacies  and  modes 
ties  that  people  acquire,  the  first  muscles  that  humanity 
learns  to  control,  the  first  taboos  that  are  taught  to  babies, 
and  even  to  dogs,  had  built  up  in  all  of  them  an  instinct 
stronger  than  a  religion.  It  fought  with  nature  a  desperate 
battle  and  made  the  inevitable  defeat  in  that  crowd  in  that 
cesspool  a  degradation  unutterable. 

It  is  permissible  to  describe  hunger,  wounds,  crimes, 
battles,  remorses,  diseases,  deaths,  and  some  of  the  sins; 
but  these  devoted  victims  of  inhuman  immundicity  were 
forced  to  endure  in  fact  what  it  is  not  endurable  to  read. 

One  or  two  desperate  persons  who  managed  to  break 
from  the  cars  were  shot  dead.  The  rolling  cages  were 
packed  with  groaning,  protesting  men  and  women  and 
pleading  children.  They  went  along  with  a  doleful  sound 
as  of  the  lowing  of  cattle  dying  for  food  and  water  and 
liberty. 

The  trucks  had  been  marked  with  chalk,  "Civilians  who 
shot  at  the  soldiers  in  Lou  vain."  The  populace  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  crowded  about  to  stare  at  them  as  at  captive  wild 
animals.  And  to  jeer  at  them.  An  officer  spat  upon  one 
of  the  priests  in  the  car. 

At  Aix  some  of  the  passengers  were  taken  out  and 

163 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

marched  through  streets  of  insult  to  another  train,  where 
they  were  carried  to  the  corral  at  Minister. 

The  train  went  on,  pausing  at  Diirren  and  other  towns 
to  give  the  inhabitants  a  circus.  Prayers  for  food  or 
drink  were  greeted  with  shouts  of  wrath.  Little  Philothee 
was  almost  in  convulsions  from  fear  and  thirst.  Alice  put 
her  hands  out  to  a  woman  going  by  with  a  pail  of  water  for 
the  train  crew.  She  begged  for  a  little  drop  of  it  for  a  little 
child  in  the  name  of  God.  ' '  Ein  Tropfchen  fur  ein  Kindchen 
in  Gottes  Namen!" 

The  woman  raised  the  cup  to  the  wan  mouth  that  Philo 
thee  pressed  between  the  bars  of  the  car,  and,  as  her  lips 
trembled  to  gulp,  drew  back  the  cup,  flung  the  water  in  the 
child's  face,  and  whooped  with  laughter.  It  was  a  famous 
joke  of  hers.  She  had  played  it  first  on  a  wounded  British 
soldier  burning  with  fever. 

Philothde  almost  died  of  shock  at  this  encounter  with 
the  depravity  of  human  nature.  She  had  entered  the 
realm  of  Frightfulness  as  a  science,  as  a  rite  of  devotion  to 
that  hideous  tribal  deity  which  the  Germans  invented  and 
which  they  call  "Gott." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  the  car  disgorged  its 
unclean,  unhuman  freight  at  Cologne. 

Cologne  stood  ready  to  receive  the  train-load  of  Lou- 
vainese.  Its  people  gathered  about  the  trucks,  prodding 
with  umbrellas,  hurling  stones  and  mud,  and  hooting, 
"Kill  them,  kill  them!" 

In  the  streets  the  pilgrims  had  to  march  through  the 
gantlet  waiting  for  them.  The  children  were  armed  with 
stones,  the  women  with  finger-nails  and  cries  of  wrath. 

Ambassador  Gerard  describes  how  pleased  he  was  to 
read  in  the  Norddeutsche  Gazette  a  statement  that  the 
people  of  a  certain  small  town,  having  been  "guilty  of 
improper  conduct  toward  prisoners  of  war,"  had  been 
sentenced  to  fines  and  imprisonment  and  their  names  pub 
lished  "in  order  that  they  may  be  held  up  to  the  contempt 
of  all  future  generations  of  Germans."  He  was  dismayed 
to  learn  that  their  offense  lay  not  in  the  mistreatment  of 
helpless  wretches,  but  in  the  fact  that  they  gave  them 
something  to  eat  and  drink! 

164 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

The  people  of  Cologne  earned  none  of  that  Teutonic  con 
tempt,  but  rather  a  place  of  immortal  honor,  for  they  dealt 
with  these  wolves  from  Louvain  in  a  spirit  of  the  purest 
ruthlessness. 

As  they  plodded  through  the  rainy  streets,  the  people 
drew  down  their  umbrellas  long  enough  to  jab  them  into 
the  flesh  of  the  victims.  But  these  suffered  too  deep 
humiliation  to  feel  surprise  or  resentment.  They  walked 
their  Calvary  Hill.  It  ended  in  a  Luna  Park,  an  importa 
tion  from  Coney  Island! 

Here  in  this  shower-sodden  home  of  foregone  hilarity 
moldy  bread  was  given  to  them,  a  loaf  to  every  ten  persons. 
The  guards  played  their  favorite  joke  upon  them,  threaten 
ing  to  kill  certain  men.  It  was  great  fun  to  make  them 
grovel,  kneel,  pray,  and  then  reprieve  them,  only  to  choose 
another  spot  for  the  burlesque  execution. 

The  Parcots  and  the  Tudesqs  were  ordered  into  one  of 
the  cars  of  a  Ferris  wheel.  As  each  car  was  filled  the  wheel 
was  raised,  until  all  were  full.  The  others  slept  in  the  open 
on  a  clean  wet  ground. 

In  the  morning  the  dawn  woke  Alice  Parcot  in  her  lofty 
aery,  and  revealed  the  glory  of  the  winding  Rhine,  "the 
holy  stream,"  and  the  bridges  of  Cologne,  the  roofs  and 
spires,  and  the  great  cathedral,  that  "Bible  in  stone." 
The  wheel  was  slowly  revolved  again.  The  cars  emptied 
as  they  reached  the  ground,  the  battalions  were  formed 
anew,  and  back  again  through  the  angry  mob  went  the 
slow  parade — minus  three  hundred  men  who  were  kept  for 
trial  and  sixty  of  them  for  death. 

The  rest  were  packed  into  the  trains  again,  and,  starved 
and  disgraced,  were  shunted  on  and  on  to  Brussels  and  to 
Schaerbeek,  and  then  were  set  on  foot  again  and  marched 
under  guard  along  the  roads  for  miles  and  miles,  to  be 
turned  astray  at  last  to  find  their  way  home  as  best  they 
could.  Somebody  had  misunderstood  an  order  and  some 
body  else  had  corrected  the  trivial  error.  The  little  picnic 
into  Germany  was  over. 

So  broken  in  spirit  and  body  were  the  guests  of  German 
mercy  that  they  welcomed  the  sight  of  Louvain  with  its 
cold,  wet  ruins  as  a  Paradise  regained.  After  all,  there  had 

165 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

been  only  a  little  over  a  thousand  houses  burned.  The 
Tudesq  place  was  one  of  them,  but  the  ground  had  not 
been  destroyed,  and  they  had  a  little  wooden  shelter 
erected  there.  It  was  the  only  home  they  had. 

Alice  Parcot  and  her  mother  had  grown  so  close  to  the 
Tudesqs  that  they  cast  in  their  lot  with  them.  Mrs. 
Parcot  had  kept  her  money  on  her  person  and  it  saved 
them  all  from  penury. 

The  German  conquerors  had  caught  by  now  a  little  of 
the  world's  fierce  wrath  at  their  savagery  and  they  were 
in  a  chastened  mood.  Major  von  Manteuffel  declared  a 
truce  to  pillage  and  incendiarism  and  assured  the  Louvainese 
that  life  might  now  go  on  as  before.  They  must  salute  the 
sacramental  gray  uniform,  and  they  must  not  attack  their 
well-meaning  masters  again.  Surely  by  now  they  had 
learned  to  respect  Germany. 

Alice  and  her  mother  found  at  length  a  kind  of  comfort 
in  the  company  of  so  many  miserable  people.  All  the 
Louvainese  had  known  the  German  fury.  They  were  sus 
tained  by  an  indomitable  expectation  that  rescue  would 
come  from  somewhere,  if  not  from  the  French  in  the  south, 
or  the  British  in  the  west,  then  from  the  Russians  on  their 
way  to  Berlin. 

It  mattered  little  to  Alice  and  her  mother.  They  had 
no  country,  no  past,  nothing  but  a  strange  and  hateful 
future.  They  longed  only  for  obscurity.  Even  their 
Americanism  was  conspicuous,  and  when  the  German  au 
thorities  called  on  them  to  register  their  names  they  called 
themselves  Tudesq.  They  had  finished  with  Parcot. 

They  attended  the  completion  of  their  destinies,  as  stolid 
as  trees  that  wait  for  fruitage  and  then  for  autumn  and 
winter 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A^TER  Noll  and  Dimny  had  left  the  streets  of  Rotter 
dam,  on  the  Antwerp  road,  Noll  astounded  Dimny 
by  producing  a  bundle  of  German  money,  the  equivalent 
of  five  hundred  dollars. 

"What's  all  this?"  she  asked,  as  he  held  it  out  to  her. 

"  It's  something  you  left  in  Carthage  by  mistake." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"When  you  ran  away  from  us,  and  wrote  that  note  for 
my  mother,  you  inclosed  five  hundred  dollars  to  pay 
expenses.  But  we  don't  run  a  boarding-house." 

"But  the  doctor's  bills,  and  the  nurse,  and  all?" 

"They  are  part  of  Carthage  hospitality.  We  want  you 
to  come  back  again." 

"But  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  this." 

"You  couldn't  think  of  hurting  our  feelings.  It  was  a 
wonderful  privilege  to  have  you  visit  us.  When  I  think 
what  a  difference  your  coming  to  our  house  has  made  in 
our  life —  He  was  afraid  to  go  on. 

She  was  afraid  to  protest  further.  She  put  the  cash  in  her 
hand-bag.  They  were  very  well  acquainted  now,  for  money 
had  passed  between  them.  It  was  almost  like  being  married. 

Dimny's  interest  was  divided  between  the  wintry  land 
scape  and  her  formidable  documents  of  safe  conduct. 
These  included  a  certificate. 


Kaiserlich  Deutsches  Konsulat 
Rotterdam 

BESCHEINIGUNG 
Vorzeiger  dieses,  der  Amerikanische  Staatsangehorige  Miss  Dimny 

Parcot 

der  sich  gegenwdrtig  Rotterdam  aufJialt  wunscht  mil  Automobil  nach 
Belgien  und  zwar  nach  Antwerpen,  Briissel,  Dofnay,  Luttich  zu  reisen, 
etc. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

It  was  signed  by  the  Kaiserliche  Konsul  and  stamped 
with  the  seal  containing  a  black  eagle  that  looked  as 
though  it  had  been  pressed  in  a  book. 

She  had  also  a  Passierschein  with  a  stamp  announcing 
that  it  had  been  "Gesehen  in  Kaiserlich  Deutschen  Konsulat 
zu  Rotterdam,  Gut  zum  Reise  nach  Belgien." 

The  weather  was  bitter  cold  and  the  speed  of  the  car 
doubled  the  force  of  the  wind.  But  at  least  they  were 
going  somewhere  and  together.  They  had  a  goal  and  they 
were  nearing  it. 

A  long  ferry-crossing  landed  them  in  Dordrecht.  Here 
Noll  paused,  according  to  instructions,  to  take  aboard  the 
German  officer  who  was  to  accompany  Noll  into  Antwerp 
to  test  the  courtesy  of  the  sentinels. 

The  United  States  flag  and  the  flag  of  the  C.  R.  B. 
identified  the  car,  and  it  was  approached  at  once  by  a  man 
whose  military  bearing  was  rather  emphasized  than  sup 
pressed  by  his  civilian  garb.  He  presented  a  card  that 
introduced  him  to  Noll,  who  introduced  him  to  Dimny  as 
Oberst  Gustave  von  Repsold.  He  was  very  gracious  for  a 
colonel,  and  he  apologized  for  accepting  Dimny's  offer  to 
give  him  her  place  in  the  front  seat. 

Twenty-odd  miles  more,  including  another  slow  ferry- 
ride  and  one  of  the  longest  bridges  in  the  world,  and  they 
whizzed  into  Rosendaal. 

Dimny  caught  a  blurred  glimpse  of  the  little  cottage  of 
poor  Vrouw  Weenix.  The  little  hut  was  closed  now  and  no 
smoke  purled  from  its  chimney. 

Her  duty  to  this  hapless  Samaritan  woman  fought  with 
her  duty  to  her  mother  in  the  court  of  her  soul,  and  she 
wondered  what  to  do.  It  would  be  inhuman  not  to  inter 
cede  for  Vrouw  Weenix,  and  yet  that  intercession  might 
thwart  her  whole  mission. 

If  only  the  Germans  had  shown  some  mercy  toward  the 
spirit  of  mercy!  If  only  their  religion  had  included  some 
recognition  of  other  people's!  If  only  their  simple  faith 
in  the  divine  call  to  German  supremacy  had  been  troubled 
by  some  human  doubts  as  to  the  holiness  of  some  of  the 
means  to  that  end! 

A  moment  more  and  the  car  was  already  halting  at  the 

168 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

dread  frontier.  Once  that  gate  was  passed  she  was  within 
the  claws  of  the  black  eagle.  She  was  relieved  to  find  that 
the  sentinel  she  had  tried  to  pass  was  not  there  to  recog 
nize  and  denounce  her. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  not  guarantee  enough  for  the 
officer  in  charge  of  the  examining-post  to  which  the  car  was 
conducted  in  the  frontier  town  of  Esschen. 

This  man,  a  mere  lieutenant,  undertook  a  minute  search 
of  the  car.  With  the  aid  of  two  Unteroffiziere  he  examined 
Dimny's  trunk  and  every  article  in  it.  He  measured  it 
inside  and  out  to  discover  if  there  were,  perchance,  secret 
compartments  or  a  false  bottom.  He  examined  the  car, 
the  cushions,  the  top,  the  engine,  the  tires,  which  he  had 
deflated  and  removed;  and  even  the  inner  tubes. 

It  amused  Noll  to  give  him  no  help,  though  with  the 
usual  fatuity  of  detectives  he  overlooked  the  pockets  in  the 
rear  doors. 

The  lieutenant  was  about  to  pass  the  car  along  when  a 
man  came  out  of  the  building  and  took  charge.  Dimny 
recognized  him  at  once  as  the  man  with  the  nicked  ear 
and  the  saber-scar  across  his  cheek,  the  man  who  had 
offered  her  a  ride  in  his  motor-car  the  day  before  and 
guessed  that  she  was  an  American.  Though  he  was  not  in 
uniform,  the  lieutenant  saluted  him  with  respect  akin  to 
dread  and  reported  that  he  found  no  contraband  in  the  car. 
Oberstleutnant  Klemm  was  skeptical.  He  asked  for  the 
mail-bag  that  the  C.  R.  B.  car  was  sure  to  carry.  The 
lieutenant  protested  that  there  was  none. 

Klemm  sneered  at  him  and  growled  at  Noll. 

"Sie  sind  Amerikaner,  nicht?" 

"  Ja  wohl,  Gott  sei  dank!"     Noll  smiled. 

"  Ach,  so!  Er  kann  ganz  vorzuglich  Deutsch!  Wo  dann 
verbergen  Sie  den  Brief beutelf" 

His  voice  was  so  raucous,  his  manner  so  contemptuous, 
that  Colonel  von  Repsold  forgot  his  disguise  and  rebuked 
Klemm  for  his  insulting  manner. 

For  a  German  civilian  to  rebuke  an  officer  is  a  blasphemy 
that  must  be  punished  with  immediate  thunder.  Lieuten 
ant-Colonel  Klemm  wasted  no  time.  With  a  roar  of  all  the 
artillery  in  his  throat  he  reached  in,  seized  Colonel  von 
12  169 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Repsold  by  the  necktie  and  the  sleeve,  and  dragged  him 
through  the  open  door  and  flung  him  in  a  heap  on  the 
ground.  The  colonel's  head  struck  a  rock  and  he  was 
knocked  unconscious.  Otherwise  there  would  have  been 
fireworks  indeed. 

Klemm  ordered  the  lieutenant  to  throw  the  Schweitiehund 
into  a  guard-room.  He  glared  triumphantly  at  Noll  and 
demanded  the  mail-bag  again. 

It  was  such  a  luxury  to  Noll  to  see  one  German  maul  an 
other  about  that  he  chuckled  aloud  as  he  leaned  across  the 
back  of  the  seat,  lifted  the  flap  of  the  side-pocket  and  said : 

"Help  yourself,  you  blear-eyed  blackguard!" 

"De  same  to  you  and  many  of  dem!"  Klemm  retorted, 
to  Noll's  extreme  surprise. 

Klemm,  muttering  threats,  opened  the  rear  door  and  re 
moved  the  mail-bag.  Then  he  caught  his  first  good  look 
at  Dimny. 

He  glared.  His  eyes  grew  fierce  with  vague  recognition 
of  her  as  the  girl  he  had  seen  on  the  road  from  Rosendaal 
and  as  the  girl  his  motor  light  had  revealed  trying  to  run 
past  the  sentinel  under  the  shadow  of  Vrouw  Wecnix. 

Then  a  veil  of  meditation  softened  the  blaze  of  his  con 
demnation.  He  was  remembering  Dimny's  sister  Alice. 
He  had  seen  numberless  women  since,  and  her  only  for  a 
brief  while.  But  it  was  his  art  and  practice  to  remember, 
and  Alice  had  impressed  herself  on  his  mind  because  she 
was  an  uncompleted  episode  in  his  adventures.  We  do  not 
so  easily  forget  what  we  do  not  get. 

The  resemblance  between  Dimny  and  Alice  was  no  more 
than  a  vague  family  likeness.  Alice  had  hair  and  eyes  of 
a  lighter  hue.  But  it  had  been  four  months  since  Klemm 
held  Alice  in  his  arms  at  Louvain,  and  his  remembrance  of 
her  was  as  vague  as  her  likeness  to  Dimny. 

He  had  her  name  somewhere  among  his  records,  but  in 
the  card  index  of  his  memory  Dimny  was  Alice. 

Convinced  that  he  had  seen  her  in  Louvain  and  remem 
bering  well  that  he  had  seen  her  yesterday  trying  to  run  the 
lines,  he  was  instantly  assured  that  she  was  engaged  in 
some  secret  traffic.  He  was  so  happy  over  his  luck  in 
catching  her  that  he  regarded  her  now  with  the  double 

170 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

felicity  of  a  trapper  who  has  snared  a  prey  and  a  pretty 
one. 

He  lifted  his  hat.  "Bong  chour,  matemoiseUe!  Pleased 
to  meet  you  again." 

Dimny  answered,  "Have  we  met  before?" 

"Twice.  Yesterday  on  the  roat  from  Rosendaal  and 
once  before,  most  pleasantly  in — you  know." 

"I  do  not  know." 

"You  do  not  rememper  a  certain  city  in  Belchum." 

"I  have  not  been  here  since  I  was  a  child." 

"Ach,  so."  He  smiled.  "My  memory  is  better  as 
yours.  But  den  I  have  so  much  more  beautiful  a  somebody 
to  rememper  as  you  have." 

She  thought  that  he  was  trying  to  start  a  flirtation. 
She  tossed  her  head  and  her  nostrils  fairly  crinkled  with 
contempt.  Noll  intervened  by  shaking  his  finger  under 
Klemm's  nose. 

"Keep  back,  Mr.  Plainclothes-man  or  I'll  do  t»  you 
what  you  did  to  your  German  friend,  and  more  of  it." 

Klemm  backed  away  from  Noll's  hand  and  glared  at 
him. 

"  Get  out  of  that  car!  You  are  unter  arrest.  You  shall 
be  seerched,  and  also  matemoiseUe  is  arrestet." 

"You  arrest  her!     What  for,  you — 

"Because  she  is  a  spy.     I  have  proof." 

The  fate  of  Edith  Cavell,  and  the  dark  mood  that 
hastened  her  to  her  death  would  not  shake  the  world  for 
another  year,  but  dozens  of  women  had  been  shot  in 
Belgium  and  hundreds  thrown  into  prisons  for  espionage. 
The  confusion  in  Klemm's  mind  would  not  confuse  a  trial 
board  of  Prussian  officers  whose  ideal  of  a  fair  trial  was 
that  it  was  better  to  waste  lives  than  time.  Alice  Parcot, 
never  dreaming  that  Dimny  was  in  Belgium,  was  un 
wittingly  threatening  her  life. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A^D  now  Dimny  was  well  enmeshed  in  the  snares  of 
the  German  Geheim-polizei,  the  vast  world  organiza 
tion  of  treachery  on  which  Germany  had  expended  four 
million  dollars  a  year  in  times  of  peace,  "sowing  spies" 
in  order  to  reap  skulls.  In  that  huge  directory  of  souls 
Dimny  Parcot's  name  and  her  history  were  to  be  entered. 
The  Imperial  Government  would  keep  her  diary  for  her, 
registering  her  every  residence,  journey,  act. 

The  German  people  had  submitted  to  that  despotic 
guardianship  for  generations,  and  Dimny  was  now  a  visitor 
in  the  German  realm.  When  Oberstleutnant  Klemm 
ordered  Dimny  to  enter  the  inspection-hall  and  be  searched, 
Noll  leaped  from  the  car,  prepared  to  defend  her.  As  he 
advanced  on  Klemm,  two  private  soldiers,  with  bayonets 
charged,  threatened  his  sides. 

Dimny  sprang  from  the  car  to  protect  the  German  Em 
pire  from  Noll,  or  vice  versa. 

"Remember  your  promise!"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  promised  to  swallow  any  insults  they  paid  to  me,  but 
I  didn't  promise  to  let  that  yellow  dog  mistreat  you." 

"Please,  oh,  please!"  Dimny  cried,  clinging  to  his  hands. 
"For  my  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  Belgians — the 
starving  children  that  are  depending  on  you." 

That  was  a  terrible  weapon  to  cow  a  man  with. 

Noll  bowed  his  head  in  resignation,  and  humbly  marched 
when  Klemm  ordered  the  soldiers  to  take  him  to  be 
searched.  Klemm  kept  the  mail-bag;  all  the  letters  were 
unsealed — which  did  not  render  unnecessary  the  task  of 
reading  them  all. 

Noll  was  led  into  a  room  and  questioned  by  an  officer, 
while  other  officers,  who  were  supposed  to  be  psychological 
experts,  watched  him  secretly  to  see  if  by  sidelong  glances, 

172 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

twitching,  or  other  signals  he  betrayed  guilt.  When  he  had 
told  a  story  too  brief  to  be  complex,  he  was  promoted  to 
the  next  grade,  the  physical  and  sartorial  examination. 

Both  his  clothes  and  his  person  were  subjected  to  such 
disgusting  scrutiny  that  he  could  hardly  keep  his  temper 
from  breaking  out  into  battle.  His  very  fountain-pen  was 
emptied  and  examined.  He  sneered: 

"Why  don't  you  X-ray  me?  I  may  have  writing  on  my 
bones." 

The  experts  made  note  of  this  suggestion.  It  was  worth 
considering  for  future  tests. 

Noll  asked  if  women  were  searched  also,  and  as  care 
fully.  He  was  told  that  they  were.  Now  his  fists  were 
mobilized  for  a  sortie  in  Dimny's  defense,  forgetful  of  his 
own  estate.  He  paused  to  ask,  "Searched  by  men?" 

The  officer  shook  his  head  and  explained  that  women 
were  never  searched  by  men  unless  they  were  under  par 
ticular  suspicion. 

Noll  was  a  little  reassured;  yet  he  dreaded  the  effect 
upon  Dimny  even  of  search  by  a  woman.  His  anxiety  was 
not  without  foundation,  and  he  waited  uneasily  about 
after  he  had  been  permitted  to  return  to  his  clothes  and 
had  signed  a  receipt  for  all  his  valuables. 

Dimny  was  escorted  by  Lieutenant-Colonel  Klemm  to 
the  inspection-room  for  women.  His  courtesy  was  as 
reassuring  as  the  friendliness  of  a  snake,  but  she  kept  tell 
ing  herself,  "It  must  be  endured,  or  I'll  never  find  my 
mother  and  Alice." 

To  her  intense  relief,  he  left  her  after  he  had  introduced 
her  to  the  police  matron,  Frau  Stosch.  He  asked  especial 
courtesy  for  Matemoiselle  Parcot,  but  he  annulled  it  by  a 
wink  and  a  look  that  condemned  Dimny  to  the  most  thor 
ough  examination. 

Frau  Stosch  was  big  and  rough,  a  policewoman  used  to 
the  terrifying  of  the  lowest  sorts  of  street  refuse.  She  re 
garded  everybody  as  her  natural  enemy  and  foreigners  as 
doubly  contemptible.  She  had  no  English.  She  supple 
mented  her  German  with  signs  and  acts.  She  ordered 
Dimny  to  undress  with  a  gruff: 

"  Bitte,  die  Kleider  able  gen." 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  noticed  that  a  door  was  open,  that  a  sentinel 
stood  there  and  that  officers  and  men  passed,  not  often 
omitting  to  glance  in. 

When  Dimny  refused  to  proceed  with  the  door  open, 
the  matron  threatened  to  call  the  soldiers  in  to  her  aid. 
Dimny  yielded  perforce  and  retreated  into  the  farthest 
corner,  to  the  cynical  amusement  of  Frau  Stosch. 

As  soon  as  Dimny  took  off  her  hat,  the  woman  seized 
it  and  studied  it  with  greedy  curiosity  as  if  it  were  a 
magician's  cabinet.  She  ripped  out  the  lining  and  turned 
it  inside  out. 

She  went  through  Dimny's  hand-bag  and  her  heavy 
coat  with  the  same  care,  and  through  her  shoes  as  well, 
tapping  the  heels  and  the  soles,  and  studying  the  lining. 
She  took  them  then  to  the  door  and  sent  them  by  one 
of  the  soldiers  for  further  examination,  even  to  chemical 
tests  for  concealed  writing.  She  sent  away  every  other 
garment  as  it  came  off. 

It  was  hardly  less  hateful  to  strip  before  this  woman 
than  it  would  have  been  before  a  man,  but  Frau  Stosch  was 
so  insolent  and  threatening  at  her  delay  that  finally,  with 
a  desperate  resolution  to  see  it  through,  Dimny  flung 
her  clothes  off  as  an  autumnal  wind  whips  the  final  leaves 
from  a  young  birch-tree. 

And  then  she  stood  forth  in  her  sapling  slenderness, 
her  beauty  absolute — not  with  pride  in  grace  or  silken 
texture,  but  huddling  her  limbs  together  and  cowering 
and  turning  aside  in  shame,  as  she  saw  her  last  shelter 
taken  from  her  and  carried  off  by  the  sentinel. 

Dimny  had  struggled  to  keep  her  money-belt.  See 
ing  the  way  the  linings  of  her  hat,  her  coat,  and  her  hand 
bag  had  been  opened,  she  was  sure  that  her  letter  would 
be  found.  But  it  was  her  money  that  she  protested. 
Frau  Stosch  answered  hotly  that  she  would  get  it  all  back, 
and  snarled  that  the  Germans  were  not  thieves,  but 
"people  of  honor."  And  this  was  in  Belgium,  where 
they  had  stolen  nearly  everything  that  could  be  carried 
off  and  claimed  everything  that  remained! 

Frau  Stosch  added  the  final  horror  by  praising  the 
white  victim,  calling  her  "wohlgebildet,  woklgestaltet,  von 

174 


W 


hen  Dimny  refused  to  proceed  with  the  door  open,  the 
matron  threatened  to  call  the  soldiers  to  her  aid. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

schonem  Wuchse."  She  followed  her  appraisal  with  a  re 
lentless  investigation.  Wherever  her  harsh  fingers  touched 
Dimny's  wincing  flesh,  they  left  white  spots  and  streaks 
in  the  crimson  of  the  one  great  blush  she  was. 

Now  Frau  Stosch  ordered  Dimny  to  take  down  her 
hair,  and  Dimny  was  glad  of  that,  since  it  fell  about  her 
like  a  mantle.  But  she  was  not  allowed  to  hide  in  the 
flood  of  it,  for  when  Frau  Stosch  had  felt  about  her  scalp 
and  among  the  strands  for  hidden  messages,  she  made 
her  put  it  up  again. 

Next  Dimny  must  open  her  mouth  while  the  woman 
peered  down  her  throat,  probed  in  search  of  loose  fillings 
in  her  teeth  that  might  conceal  secrets — thrust  her  fingers 
in  and  searched  the  gums  even.  She  neglected  no  hiding- 
place  that  the  most  skilful  smuggler  had  ever  been 
known  to  use,  from  Dimny's  ears  and  nostrils  to  the  lit 
tle  alleys  between  her  toes. 

Dimny  was  almost  screaming  with  such  infamous  in 
dignity.  She  was  in  an  ague  of  shame  when  the  torment 
was  apparently  at  an  end.  But  now  the  muttering  in- 
quisitrix  went  to  a  table,  cut  two  lemons  open,  squeezed 
them  into  a  basin  of  water  and,  dipping  in  a  sponge,  sent 
an  icy  shower  down  Dimny's  back,  then  passed  the  sponge 
all  about  her  quivering  body — and  this  because,  for 
sooth,  citric  acid  brings  out  certain  chemicals,  and  cer 
tain  spies  had  been  suspected  of  carrying  messages  and 
maps  written  in  disappearing  ink  on  the  vellum  of  their 
own  skins. 

Dimny  was  in  a  pitiable  state  of  chill,  weeping  with 
resentment  and  fighting  with  all  her  might  to  keep  from  a 
crisis  of  hysteria.  This  would  mean  to  her  a  deep  slum 
ber  of  welcome  oblivion  yet  of  terrifying  helplessness.  She 
had  a  mission  that  had  already  been  too  greatly  delayed. 
She  battled  fiercely  with  herself  and  won.  And  now  she 
must  wait  for  the  restoration  of  her  clothes.  She  was 
permitted  to  sink  into  a  chair  under  a  rug  that  Frau  Stosch 
tossed  to  her. 

At  length  a  soldier  brought  a  bundle  to  the  door  and 
handed  it  to  Frau  Stosch  with  some  ribaldry  that  won 
a  laugh  from  that  dour  voice,  but  not  a  pretty  one.  Dimny's 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

wardrobe  was  in  a  sorry  state.  The  linings  had  been 
treated  with  chemicals,  the  seams  opened  and  carelessly 
restitched ;  the  very  ribs  of  her  corsets  had  been  taken  out 
and  tested  for  secret  messages. 

As  casually  as  she  could,  Dimny  examined  her  money- 
belt.  While  she  counted  with  difficulty  the  German 
money,  she  saw  that  the  secret  pocket  had  been  opened 
and  left  unsealed.  The  letter  was  there,  but  she  could 
tell  from  the  way  it  had  been  carelessly  refolded  that 
it  had  been  read,  and  doubtless  copied.  But  no  mention 
was  made  of  it,  and  if  suspicions  had  been  excited,  they 
were  kept  in  store  for  later  employment. 

When  she  and  Noll  met,  both  were  shamefaced.  They 
had  been  degraded  and  humiliated  to  depths  never  touched 
before.  Something  fine  and  sacred  had  been  profaned; 
the  last  veil  of  modesty  had  been  trampled  in  the  mire. 

They  were  molested  no  further,  but  were  suffered  to 
re-enter  the  car  and  to  proceed  on  their  way.  Neither 
spoke.  Noll's  reaction  was  one  of  black  rage  that  showed 
itself  in  his  savagery  at  the  wheel.  Dimny's  spirit  was 
broken.  She  was  crushed  with  the  oppression  of  some 
loathsome  guilt  that  left  her  tarnished,  craven,  despicable. 

Noll  sent  the  car  forward  at  a  furious  speed  as  he  raged : 

"We've  got  to  keep  out  of  trouble  as  well  as  we  can — 
endure  everything  until  the  big  day  when  America  comes 
to  her  senses  and  even  the  infernal  pacifists  see  what 
bloody  murderers  they  are  and  join  the  army  that's  com 
ing  over  here  to  take  the  measure  of  this  blackguard 
nation.  We've  got  to  come.  If  we're  human,  we've  got  to 
come,  and  God  bring  us  over  soon — soon,  soon,  oh  God!" 

This  was  just  before  New- Year's  Eve,  1915.  There 
was  some  interest  in  America  in  a  project  to  intervene  in 
Mexico  for  the  sake  of  American  lives,  peace,  and  property 
interests,  but  it  was  feared  that  our  army  was  too  small 
to  cope  with  that  troubled  republic. 

Neither  the  gracious  Oberst  von  Repsold  nor  the  fero 
cious  Oberstleutnant  Klemm  appeared  to  bid  Noll  and 
Dimny  God-speed.  Klemm  had  entered  the  inspection- 
bureau  with  a  triumphant  heart.  He  had  the  delightful 

176 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

illusion  of  returning  to  the  lost  beauty  of  Louvain,  for  he 
was  sure  that  Dimny  and  her  sister  were  one.  He  had 
been  called  away  from  Louvain  before  the  immolation  of 
the  city,  and  he  had  regretted  the  weakness  that  let  Alice 
escape. 

Now  that  he  believed  he  had  found  her  again,  he  be 
lieved  her  to  be  a  spy — all  the  prettier,  all  the  more  fas 
cinating  a  prize  because  she  had  so  cleverly  duped  him 
before  by  her  pretense  of  meekness. 

He  chuckled  to  think  how  much  cleverer  he  was  going 
to  prove  himself  than  she  had  thought.  She  was  helpless 
indeed  now,  for  he  had  evidence  that  she  was  a  spy.  She 
was  doubtless  an  American  adventuress  in  English  or 
French  or  Belgian  pay.  He  would  pay  her! 

His  first  impulse  was  to  denounce  her  as  an  accom 
plice  of  Vrouw  Weenix.  That  old  she-fox  would  play 
no  more  tricks  on  the  German  police-dogs.  Klemm's 
own  searchlight  had  surprised  her  in  the  very  act.  She 
had  been  tried  that  morning  and  sent  out  to  stand  against 
a  wall  and  receive  the  compliments  of  a  firing-squad. 
She  was  buried  now,  and  out  of  the  way.  He  would  not 
let  the  American  spy  know  this,  of  course. 

It  would  be  a  waste  of  material  to  confirm  her  sen 
tence  by  bringing  Miss  Parcot  up  before  the  court  martial. 
To  riddle  her  exquisite  flesh  with  bullets  now  would  be 
a  neglect  of  opportunity.  It  would  thwart  her  present 
mission  in  Belgium,  but  it  would  give  no  clue  to  her  con 
federates.  By  letting  her  go  and  keeping  her  under  ob 
servation,  he  might  unearth  a  whole  nest  of  spies  and 
discover  an  elaborate  organization.  So  Klemm  resolved 
to  play  cat  and  mouse  with  this  "Dimny  Parcot,"  as  she 
called  herself,  though  he  recalled  her  use  of  two  different 
names  in  Louvain.  He  almost  purred  with  success. 

He  went  into  the  office  to  wait  the  arrival  of  Dimny's 
effects.  It  would  be  amusing  to  go  through  what  docu 
ments  he  might  turn  up,  but  he  glowed  a  little,  too,  at  the 
prospect  of  searching  the  clothes  still  warm  from  her 
young  body.  There  is  a  word  for  this  in  psycho-pathology. 
But  the  delights  of  fancy  Klemm  was  reveling  in  were 
doomed  to  a  sudden  postponement. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

When  he  entered  the  office  he  walked  into  a  hurricane. 
Colonel  von  Repsold  had  come  to  life  again  with  a  vengeance 
and  a  need  of  vengeance. 

For  an  officer  of  colonel's  rank  to  be  manhandled  by 
anybody,  not  to  mention  an  inferior  officer,  not  even  to 
dream  of  a  police  officer,  was  a  scar  upon  his  dignity. 
It  was  not  a  thing  to  be  boasted  of  and  published,  like 
the  student's  saber-scar  across  Klemm's  ear  and  cheek; 
he  had  doubtless  aggravated  and  perpetuated  that  with 
salt  and  pepper  when  the  wound  was  fresh.  Colonel  von 
Repsold  wanted  to  efface  his  scar  at  once.  He  had  a  von 
to  his  name,  and  Klemm  had  none.  He  felt  ridiculous  in 
the  citizen's  clothes  that  he  had  stooped  to  wear  for  the 
sake  of  confirming  the  complaints  of  the  Americans.  He 
had  confirmed  them  indeed! 

He  was  shuddering  with  wrath  when  he  saw  Klemm 
come  beaming  in  at  the  door  in  a  glow  of  amorous  antici 
pation,  with  a  smile  so  ample  that  on  the  scar-side  it 
seemed  to  run  clear  across  and  loop  about  one  ear. 

A  people's  jokes  are  an  index  to  their  lives,  and  the 
Germans  are  so  beset  with  laws  that  even  a  nose  that  is 
overlarge  is  called  "a  nose  against  police  regulations." 

So  Von  Repsold  roared  at  Klemm  with  the  contemptuous 
"thou,"  condemned  his  grin  and  ordered  him  to  come  to 
attention. 

"Du,  mil  das  -polizei-widrige  Grinsen — Achtung!" 

Automatically  Klemm's  muscles  responded  to  the  mili 
tary  cry.  His  heels  clapped  together;  his  hand  went  to 
his  hat-brim.  Then  he  made  out  that  the  commandant 
voice  issued  from  the  very  wretch  he  had  yanked  from  the 
car. 

His  hand  dropped.  His  heels  parted  company.  He 
advanced  to  strike,  demanding,  "Who  to  the  devil  are 
you?" 

**  Colonel  von  Repsold  of  the  Great  General  Staff,  you 
swinehound!" 

Klemm  glanced  at  the  officers  standing  about.  He  saw 
by  their  anxious  faces  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
superior.  There  was  no  sympathy  on  those  other  faces, 
but  rather  a  suppressed  eagerness  to  see  a  victim  flayed. 

178 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Klemm  was  frightened.  The  gentle  perspiration  of 
his  amour  turned  to  cold  sweat.  He  stammered  his  apol 
ogies.  Von  Repsold  had  no  use  for  them.  He  wanted 
to  see  Klemm's  pride  in  the  dust  where  his  own  had  been. 

Klemm  pleaded  the  performance  of  his  duty.  "I  did 
not  know  that  the  Herr  Oberst  was  an  officer,"  he  answered. 

Von  Repsold  took  further  umbrage  at  this.  He  roared 
at  him  choice  trench  words: 

"You  should  have  known  it,  you  horn-ox!  Do  I  look 
like  a  commercial  traveler?  Have  I  the  air  of  one  of 
these  shopkeepers  that  come  to  Belgium  to  sell  sausage?" 

"No,  and  again  no,  Herr  Oberst.     But — " 

"You  call  yourself  an  expert  in  character.  I  call  you 
a  turnip-swine.  You  can  see  through  any  disguise,  but 
when  I  appear  in  an  automobile,  you  take  me  for  a  Bel 
gian  because  I  haven't  a  helmet  on.  You  are  under 
arrest.  You  can  waltz  to  Father  Philip  and  stand  behind 
the  Swedish  blinds  and  think  it  over." 

'  But  I  have  a  spy  trapped.     The  Americaness,  she  is  a 
spy.     I  know  it.     I  have  proofs." 

"Rhinoceros!  You  give  proofs  of  imbecility.  The 
young  lady  has  the  special  guarantees  of  Captain  Lucey. 
She  is  just  out  of  school.  She  is  very  charming.  I  have 
talked  to  her.  It  is  her  first  visit  to  Belgium  since  she 
was  a  child." 

"  I  saw  her  months  ago  at  Louvain." 

"If  I  had  been  in  Louvain,  I  should  keep  quiet  about 
it.  Where  is  she  now?" 

"She  is  being  searched." 

"That  is  outrageous.  I  have  a  daughter  of  her  age.  I 
will  stop  it.  I  have  been  assigned  by  the  Great  General 
Headquarters  to  protect  the  C.  R.  B.  from  insult." 

"At  your  peril.  I  have  been  assigned  to  protect  this 
frontier  from  spies." 

"  Be  careful  of  your  words.  You  are  under  arrest.  You 
may  retire." 

"I  insist  upon  communicating  with  Number  Seventy, 
Koniggratzerstrasse." 

"Communicate  with  what  you  will,  but  don't  communi 
cate  with  me." 

179 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  motioned  to  the  other  officers,  and  Klemm  was 
marched  off,  almost  weeping  with  rage.  Klemm  was  more 
eager  now  to  have  Von  Repsold's  head  than  Dimny's 
heart.  He  wrote  and 'rewrote  messages  to  No.  70  in  such 
a  swirl  of  wrath  that  he  could  hardly  remember  his  own 
code  or  his  own  code-number. 

Colonel  von  P.epsold  had  the  regular  army's  contempt 
for  the  secret  army  men,  and  with  good  reason,  for  since 
the  days  of  the  slimy  Stieber,  who  carried  out  the  trickeries 
that  even  Bismarck  could  not  stoop  to,  they  had  stopped 
at  nothing.  Stieber  claimed  to  have  won  the  war  of  1870 
by  having  an  army  of  forty  thousand  male  and  female  spies 
"intrenched"  in  France  before  Bismarck  brought  on  the 
war  by  a  forgery. 

The  incumbent  of  the  satanic  throne  in  1914  was  Stein- 
hauer,  and  he  had  prepared  the  field  with  an  equal  thor 
oughness  that  would  have  gained  a  greater  triumph  if 
Belgium  had  not  thrown  herself  into  the  wheels  of  the 
chariot.  The  assurances  of  the  secret  police  that  Belgium 
would  not  resist  and  that  England  would  not  fight  had 
cost  the  regular  troops  a  bitter  and  bloody  disappointment, 
and  the  secret-service  men  were  out  of  favor.  Having 
failed,  their  wickedness  looked  ugly.  It  pleased  von 
Repsold  to  knock  one  of  them  into  the  gutter. 

Presently  Colonel  von  Repsold  received  the  reports  of 
the  men  examining  Dimny's  raiment.  They  reported 
everything  innocent  till  they  found  the  letter  in  the  money- 
belt.  This  was  double  trouble  to  the  old  warrior.  He 
knew  all  too  well  that  the  first  German  troops  had  treated 
French  and  Belgian  women  as  they  had  treated  French 
women  in  1870,  and  the  women  of  other  nations  at  other 
times.  He  had  been  in  China  when  they  horrified  the 
civilized  nations  and  provoked  the  vigorous  protests  of 
the  American  and  other  generals. 

Von  Repsold  thought  of  his  own  daughter,  and  blenched 
and  bit  his  lip. 

"Shall  we  confiscate  this  slander-story,  Herr  Oberst?" 
one  of  the  examiners  asked  him.  "We  had  made  a  copy, 
Heir  Oberst,  for  the  code-experts,  and  we  tested  it  for 
secret  writing  between  the  lines." 

1 80 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"That  is  enough.     Give  it  back  to  her,  in  God's  name." 

Colonel  von  Repsold  had  planned  to  make  his  apologies 
to  Mr.  Winsor  and  Miss  Parcot  for  their  treatment,  but 
he  dared  not  face  the  girl,  knowing  what  he  knew;  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  face  Noll,  wearing  the  bump  he  had  upon 
his  forehead.  So  he  ordered  them  released,  sending  in  his 
stead  a  personal  laisser-passer  to  help  them  through  the 
further  lines. 

Then  he  sat  down  to  write  a  strong  report  to  the  Grosses 
Hauptquartier  concerning  the  useless  and  contemptible 
discourtesies  to  which  the  Americans  were  subjected  as  a 
reward  for  their  efforts  to  take  care  of  the  Belgians — and 
by  feeding  them  to  prevent  bloody  hunger-riots.  His  re 
port  reached  Berlin  with  Klemm's.  It  was  von  Repsold 
who  was  rebuked  and  sent  into  retirement  for  his  inter 
ference  with  the  personal  branch  of  the  Geheim-Polizei 
which  operated  under  the  direct  eye  of  the  Kaiser. 

Klemm  was  reprimanded  for  his  stupidity  in  maltreating 
a  colonel  in  mufti,  and  advised  to  be  a  trifle  more  subtle, 
especially  with  Americans,  since  at  that  moment  the  policy 
was  to  appease  them.  When  he  was  released  from  arrest 
he  learned  of  the  letter  found  on  Dimny's  person,  but  the 
copy  had  been  forwarded  to  Berlin  for  the  files  there. 
He  was  assured  that  the  letter  contained  no  address,  nor 
any  names  but  ' '  Dof  nay ' '  and  an  allusion  to  a  Thuringian 
regiment. 

The  word  Dofnay  sounded  familiar,  for  Alice  had  spoken 
of  the  place,  but  he  could  remember  no  other  names. 
Whether  to  take  the  express  to  Berlin  and  search  the 
records  or  to  pursue  Dimny  kept  him  on  tenterhooks  for 
hours. 

He  decided  at  length  on  the  former  course,  but  sent  a 
telegram  first  to  Antwerp  and  to  Brussels  to  keep  her  under 
strict  observation,  but  not  to  detain  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

NIGHT  was  closing  in  about  Noll  and  Dimny  before 
the  fortifications  of  Antwerp  loomed  up  like  storm 
clouds  over  the  horizon,  and  at  last  the  cathedral  tower  of 
Onze  lieve  Vrouwe  Kerk  pierced  the  edge  of  the  sky.  As 
they  came  on,  it  thrust  up  and  up  its  ornate  shaft  four 
hundred  feet  toward  the  clouds,  the  shaft  that  Napoleon 
called  "a  piece  of  Malines  lace."  Other  towers  began  to 
shoulder  in  alongside,  and  finally  the  city  was  upon  them. 

The  outskirts  of  Antwerp  were  sad  with  industrial  death , 
with  dark  manufactories,  warehouses  idle  and  sealed, 
wharves  mournful  and  lonely  along  the  bright  cold  waters 
of  the  winding  Scheldt. 

In  certain  places  there  were  still  ramparts  of  sand-bags 
and  guns  threatening  the  listless  populace  loafing  the 
dismal  streets  past  the  dim  shop  windows.  In  spots  there 
was  effort  at  cheer.  Electric  street-cars  rang  their  bells, 
moving-picture  shows  were  flamboyant,  cafes  were  noisy, 
and  old  women  cried  the  papers,  La  Presse,  the  Handelsblad, 
and  the  Algemeen  Nieuwsblad.  German  and  Belgian  police 
moved  up  and  down.  Armed  German  officers  and  soldiers 
were  omnipresent,  and  omnipresent  their  placards  in  three 
languages  proclaimed  that  the  nation  of  rule-makers  had 
set  up  here  another  verboten-ta.ctory.  A  pall  of  captivity 
shrouded  the  somber  air. 

Noll  was  directed  to  the  Pass  Bureau  of  the  Komman- 
dantur  von  Antwerpen  in  the  Marche  aux  Souliers.  Here 
there  was  a  dreary  wait,  another  cross-examination,  and 
then  they  were  permitted  to  seek  a  night's  lodging.  They 
went  to  the  Terminus  Hotel,  guarded  by  a  sentinel  with 
fixed  bayonet,  standing  at  a  sentry-box,  painted  in  the 
German  colors,  the  schwarz,  we-iss,  rot,  which  in  the  dusk 

182 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

resembled  the  red,  white,  and  blue,  but  with  so  different  a 
meaning. 

In  the  restaurant,  German  waiters  dictated  the  orders 
instead  of  taking  them,  and  the  black  bread  of  hard  times 
was  doled  out  as  a  gracious  gift  to  travelers  who  had  no 
bread-card. 

Noll  engaged  rooms  for  himself  and  Dimny  and  bade  her 
good  night.  She  was  as  frightened  as  she  had  been  in  this 
same  city  years  before  when  as  a  child  she  was  left  alone 
in  the  dark. 

But  then  she  had  Alice  with  her,  and  her  mother  and 
father  were  in  the  next  room.  Then  her  fatigue  had  been 
from  plodding  the  sights  of  the  ancient  city;  her  eyes 
ached  then  from  the  tumultuous  splendors  of  the  endless 
Rubens  canvases.  He  had  stormed  in  vain  among  his 
colors  to  reveal  the  glories  of  his  fellow-townsmen  of 
Antwerp  and  now  they  were  fugitive  or  captive,  idle,  ragged, 
hungry. 

The  next  morning,  on  their  way  out  of  Antwerp,  Noll  and 
Dimny  were  arrested  again.  Dimny  was  taken  to  a  guard 
room,  cross-examined  and  searched  to  the  skin  again. — 
this  time  by  a  man. 

Before  he  had  finished,  his  victim  dropped  to  the  floor 
in  a  heap.  She  was  restored  by  a  cup  of  water  dashed  in 
her  face. 

When  she  rejoined  Noll,  he  was  in  such  an  ague  of  helpless 
shame  and  wrath  that  he  could  hardly  hold  the  wheel  of  the 
car.  He  almost  wrecked  it  on  an  obstruction  made  in  the 
road  by  the  recently  toppled  steeple  of  a  village  church. 
Here  an  old  Flemish  woman  hobbled  from  a  cranny  she  had 
excavated  in  a  mound  of  stones  and  stopped  the  car  to 
seize  the  American  flag  it  flaunted  and  to  caress  it  with  her 
hands  and  even  to  press  it  to  her  lips. 

She  saluted  it  by  crooning  in  a  senile  voice  a  bit  of  a 
battle-hymn  she  had  heard  her  son  and  the  other  soldiers 
chant  as  they  marched  off  to  the  war — the  stout-hearted 
cry:  "They  shall  never  tame  the  proud  lion  of  Flanders." 

"  Ze  zullen  hem  niet  temmen 
Den  fieren  vlaamschen  Leeuw." 

183 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Noll  could  not  understand  the  brave  words  she  croaked, 
but  the  gratitude,  the  hope,  the  courage  her  act  expressed 
brought  tears  flashing  to  his  eyelids.  Her  farewell  to  him 
was  the  national  watchword  "Belgium  will  and  shall  be 
free"  (Da  Belgie  wil  en  zal  vrij  blijven").  He  lifted  his  hat 
to  her  and  tried  to  conceal  his  softness  in  a  gust  of  anger. 

"The  murderers,  the  heartless  fiends!" 

"The  Germans?"  Dimny  asked. 

"No,  no,"  he  raged.  "The  Americans!  The  pacifists! 
They  say  they  love  humanity,  and  they  let  such  things  as 
this  go  on!  They  hear  the  wolves  howl  and  won't  buy  a 
gun.  They  say  they  can  make  the  Germans  ashamed  of 
themselves  by  appealing  to  their  souls — as  if  they  had 
souls !  How  could  they  have  souls  and  endure  the  sight  of 
Belgium?  The  pacifists  are  harder-hearted  than  the 
Germans.  They  say  that  this  must  be  the  last  war  and  we 
mustn't  be  in  it.  We  mustn't  make  a  gun  or  enlist  a  man. 
They  say  it's  hysterical  to  talk  of  preparation.  Well,  this 
makes  me  hysterical.  I  was  always  so  proud  of  my  country, 
but  now  I'm  ashamed,  ashamed  to  be  only  an  American, 
a  spineless,  helpless,  useless  Yankee!' 

Dimny  understood  both  his  shame  and  his  wrath.  She 
set  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  squeezed  it.  He  wished  it  had 
been  more  firmly  muscled  where  she  pressed,  and  he  re 
solved  to  make  himself  a  man  of  steel  and  to  devote  himself 
to  steeling  his  country  to  its  inescapable  duty. 

The  road  from  Antwerp  to  Brussels  had  been,  but  a  few 
months  past,  a  gala  motor-pleasance,  an  hour  and  a  half 
long,  with  towns  and  villages  strung  like  carved  beads  on  a 
chain  of  perfect  boulevard  through  a  green  fieldside. 

For  a  generation  the  world  had  been  laying  out  its 
tourist  routes  by  German  guide-books  kept  up  to  date  with 
slight  revisions.  Now  the  Kaiser's  war  cast  the  plates 
into  the  scrap-heap,  made  all  geographies  ridiculous,  filled 
Europe  with  a  fresh  supply  of  ruins,  kicked  down  cathedrals, 
emptied  museums  and  cities,  reduced  towns  to  stumbling- 
blocks,  castles  and  chateaux  to  rubbish-dumps,  bridges 
to  junk-heaps;  changed  all  the  populations,  killing  off 
millions  of  men,  bringing  aboard  the  earth  millions  of  ille 
gitimate  babes,  transforming  the  industries  and  the  arts 

184 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  the  grim  uses  of  destruction  and  ugliness.  It  would  be 
necessary  to  re-Baedeker  the  globe. 

Along  this  famous  Antwerp-Brussels  road,  once  rich  and 
quaint  and  prosperous,  there  was  hardly  a  village  unharmed 
— from  Antwerp  on  past  Malines  to  Vilvoorde,  not  one. 

Beyond  Vilvoorde  the  devastation  abruptly  ceased,  as 
if  some  Canute  had  stayed  a  tidal  wave.  Burgomaster 
Max  of  Brussels  was  the  Canute.  He  had  saved  his  city 
by  surrendering  it  and  opening  the  sluices  to  the  field- 
gray  torrent. 

Noll  and  Dimny  were  of  course  arrested  immediately  on 
the  outskirts  of  Brussels.  They  moved  on  from  arrest  to 
arrest  until  they  found  themselves  at  last  at  the  Kom- 
mandantur,  where  Noll  was  subjected  to  a  grilling. 

At  last  he  bethought  him  of  his  mother's  discovery  that 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  hers  was  one  of  the  rich  men 
devoting  himself  to  the  Belgian  salvation.  Skelton  was 
his  name,  as  Noll  remembered  it,  and  he  persuaded  the 
officer  in  charge  to  send  for  him. 

Skelton  arrived  in  haste,  and  Noll  presented  his  creden 
tials  verbally.  Skelton  threatened  to  "send  for  Hoover" 
if  there  were  any  further  delay.  Mr.  Hoover  had  a  repu 
tation  for  making  trouble  and  of  having  influence  higher 
up,  where  his  temper  was  respected.  It  was  decided  to 
let  Noll  off  with  a  stern  warning. 

Even  Dimny  was  spared.  She  was  released  after  a 
perfunctory  search  and  a  few  questions.  The  worst  of 
her  ordeal  was  the  ogling  flattery  of  the  monocled  officials. 
They  were  notorious  for  granting  insulting  privileges  to 
pretty  Belgian  women  and  dealing  ruthlessly  with  the 
homely  and  the  old.  Dimny  was  nauseated. 

When  she  left  the  pass-bureau  she  was  followed  by 
shadows  instructed  to  keep  her  under  their  hovering  care. 

She  went  with  Noll  and  Skelton  to  the  office  of  the 
Commission,  where  Noll  made  his  report  and  delivered  his 
mail,  and  where  Dimny  deposited  the  list  of  missing 
English  school-girls  who  had  not  been  heard  of  by  their 
parents  since  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  five  months  before. 

Skelton  told  her  that  the  Commission  "did  a  wholesale 
tmsiness  in  losts  and  founds,"  and  promised  his  aid.  "  I've 
13  185 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

no  doubt  that  the  girls  can  be  traced,"  he  said,  "but  getting 
them  to  England  will  be  a  ticklish  job.  The  Germans  are 
so  afraid  that  more  witnesses  of  their  atrocities  may  get  to 
the  public  that  they  won't  let  anybody  in  or  out  of  Belgium 
except  the  members  of  the  C.  R.  B.,  and  we  have  to  take 
a  pledge  not  to  discuss  such  matters." 

Dimny,  having  masked  her  errand  sufficiently,  made 
further  inquiry  of  the  whereabouts  of  her  mother  and 
sister.  The  records  were  searched,  but  there  was  no  trace 
of  a  Parcot  in  Brussels. 

Dimny  felt  sure  from  Alice's  letter  that  even  if  they  were 
in  the  city  they  would  be  living  under  assumed  names  and 
avoiding  Americans.  She  felt  that  she  must  go  first  to 
Dofnay,  where  they  had  been  caught  in  the  invasion. 
From  there  the  search  might  best  be  conducted,  if  indeed 
they  were  not  still  dwelling  there  in  obscurity. 

She  stated  her  plan  to  Skelton,  and  he  arranged  that 
Noll  should  take  her  thither  on  the  morrow,  under  the 
excuse  of  an  errand  concerning  the  food-supply.  That 
was  always  a  good  excuse,  because  a  true  one.  The  Bel 
gians  were  hungry  everywhere.  The  whole  nation  was 
fasting,  and  was  doomed  to  fast  not  for  weeks  and  months 
only,  but  for  years  and  years. 

The  organization  of  fifty-five  thousand  relief -workers,  the 
spending  of  eighteen  million  dollars  a  month,  the  purchase 
of  three  hundred  million  pounds  of  food  a  month,  the 
commerce  of  a  fleet  of  seventy  ships,  of  mills,  clothing- 
factories,  of  hundreds  of  canteens,  a  thousand  institutions, 
did  not  suffice  to  do  more  than  keep  them  alive  enough 
just  not  to  be  dead. 

The  problem  of  lodgings  for  Dimny  and  Noll  was  im 
mediate.  Skelton  recommended  the  Palace  Hotel.  It  had 
first  been  infested  by  German  officers,  but  an  order  was 
issued  forbidding  them  to  go  there,  because,  it  was  said, 
two  English  spies  had  secured  papers  and  secrets  from 
drunken  German  officers  whom  they  had  then  shot  dead. 

German  merchants  and  German  Red  Cross  nurses  dwelt 
there  now,  and  it  was  a  hotbed  of  secret  police.  Skelton 
warned  Noll  and  Dimny. 

186 


THE   UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

When  they  reached  the  hotel,  a  German  porter  took 
their  luggage  from  the  car,  and  a  German  room -clerk 
scowled  across  the  desk  as  he  saw  the  English-looking 
couple  approach.  Noll  hastened  to  explain  that  he 
was  American,  and  there  was  a  slight  mitigation  of  the 
scowl. 

But  there  was  a  most  embarrassing  moment  when  Noll 
demanded  two  rooms.  The  man  at  the  desk,  glancing  to 
where  Dimny  stood  aloof,  and  seeing  how  pretty  she  was, 
meant  to  be  polite  in  assuming  her  to  be  Noll's  wife  and 
assumed  aloud  that  Noll  wanted  " Nebenzimmern." 

11  Nein  dock!"  Noll  snapped  when  he  understood. 

Then  thoughts  ran  pellmell  about  his  brain,  as  he  realized 
that  in  a  hotel  somebody  was  bound  to  have  a  room  adjoin 
ing  Dimny's — two  somebodies,  in  fact,  one  on  either  side. 
It  came  to  him  in  a  flash  that  it  would  be  better  if  he  were 
Dimny's  next  neighbor  than  any  one  else. 

He  knew  the  perils  Dimny  ran  in  Belgium.  He  knew  all 
too  well  from  her  sister's  letter  how  unsafe  convent  walls 
had  been.  Cardinal  Mercier  himself  had  declared  to  the 
Germans  that  they  had  not  even  spared  the  nuns. 

Noll  had  thought  it  all  out  by  the  time  the  man  at  the 
desk  was  ready  with  two  separate  numbers.  He  would 
keep  as  close  to  Dimny  as  he  could,  and  if  need  be,  fight  to 
the  death  in  her  defense. 

He  said  that  he  had  changed  his  mind.  The  look  he  gave 
the  clerk  stifled  a  knowing  smile  in  its  infancy.  The  porter 
conducted  Noll  and  Dimny  and  their  baggage  to  the 
elevator  and  thence  along  a  hall.  He  admitted  Dimny  to 
her  room,  and  she  paused  in  the  door  to  bid  Noll  good 
night. 

"Pleasant  dreams,''  he  said. 

"  I  am  too  tired  to  dream,"  she  sighed,  and  rapped  on  the 
wood  of  the  casement  to  take  the  curse  off  the  boast. 

She  closed  the  door  without  noticing  that  Noll  was  taken 
to  the  next.  That  saved  explanations.  He  felt  a  pleasant 
glow  in  his  heart  at  being  so  near  to  her,  and  it  warmed  him 
through  to  think  that  she  was  sleeping  as  close  to  him  now 
as  on  those  far-off  nights  when  she  first  fell  from  heaven 
into  his  little  town  and  into  his  narrow  life.  Here  he  was, 

187 


THE   UNPARDONABLE   SIN 

and  a  few  months  back  he  had  knocked  a  man  down  in 
Carthage  for  calling  the  Germans  Huns. 

Through  the  heavy  door  Noll  vaguely  heard  Dimny 
moving  about.  Then  there  was  silence.  She  must  be 
asleep,  and  he  thanked  God  for  the  blessing  of  it  on  her 
heavy-laden  soul.  He  was  sleepy  too,  from  the  long  nagging 
day,  but  he  had  his  road-map  to  study  from  Brussels  to 
Dofnay,  and  a  lengthy  array  of  regulations  to  memorize. 

He  worked  long  and  heavily.  Before  he  made  ready  for 
bed,  he  put  out  his  light  and  stood  at  the  window  looking 
out  on  the  Place  Charles  Rogier  and  the  big  railroad  station. 
The  plaza  was  deserted  now  by  all  except  the  soldiers;  for 
at  ten  o'clock  civilians  were  required  to  be  off  the  streets, 
though  ten  o'clock  German  time  was  only  nine  o'clock  by 
Belgian  time.  Germany  had  improved  on  Joshua  and 
turned  the  sun  f  orward  an  hour. 

Suddenly  Noll  was  troubled  by  a  faint  throbbing  sound. 
A  woman  was  crying  somewhere.  A  line  of  light  was 
drawn  along  the  lowest  edge  of  the  door  between  his  and 
Dimny's  rooms.  She  was  awake!  It  was  she  that  wept. 
The  line  of  light  was  interrupted  by  a  shadow  that  passed 
back  and  forth  silently.  She  was  pacing  the  floor,  barefoot 
and  crying.  He  could  tell  that  she  was  trying  to  smother 
her  grief  in  her  hands  or  perhaps  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm. 

He  imagined  her  as  pervividly  as  he  had  seen  her  in 
Carthage  when  first  she  broke  from  her  great  sleep,  all  in 
white,  between  the  dark  flood  of  her  hair  and  her  white 
insteps. 

The  bitter  torment  of  her  sobs  shook  his  own  heart  with 
pity  for  her  orphaned  loveliness,  her  knowledge  of  irrep 
arable  woes,  her  good  reasons  to  dread  the  future.  Her 
bravery,  her  resolution,  were  wonderful  to  him;  but,  after 
all,  she  was  only  a  frightened  girl  crying  alone  in  the  night. 

He  longed  to  gather  her  into  the  stronghold  of  his 
bosom,  but  he  knew  how  feeble  a  stronghold  that  was.  He 
looked  from  his  window  and  cursed  the  helmets  that 
glimmered  in  the  moonlight,  the  long  gray  car  that  slid 
by  like  a  crocodile. 

He  tried  to  shut  his  ears  to  Dimny's  weeping,  but  she 
sobbed  on  and  on  till  he  could  bear  it  'no  longer. 

1 88 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  went  to  the  door  and  tapped  on  it  softly.  There  was 
an  abrupt  silence.  He  feared  that  he  had  alarmed  her.  He 
knocked  again.  She  called  out  with  a  quaver  of  terror  in 
her  voice. 

"Who's  that?" 

He  placed  his  lips  against  the  door  and  spoke  softly. 

"  It's  Noll.    I'm  in  the  next  room  here." 

There  was  no  answer  to  this.  She  was  not  reassured. 
He  spoke  again: 

"  I  heard  you  crying,  and  I  can't  stand  it.  I  can't  stand 
it,  Dimny." 

She  answered  this : 

"I'm  sorry.    Forgive  me." 

"Don't  say  that,  but  tell  me — what's  the  matter, 
Dimny?" 

She  came  close  to  the  door  and  wailed  against  it. 

"I  was  asleep,  and  I  dreamed  that  we  were  all  together, 
mamma,  papa  and  Alice  and  I,  and  we  were  laughing,  and  I 
woke  up  laughing — and  remembered.  And — oh  dear! 
oh  dear!" 

She  was  weeping  again,  and  leaning  against  the  door;  for 
it  trembled  as  if  it  were  of  aspen  timber.  He  stood  with  his 
arms  flattened  out  against  it  in  a  thwarted  embrace,  while 
she  wept  almost  on  his  breast. 

He  hung  there  in  a  kind  of  awkward  crucifixion,  as  if  he 
were  dead  and  a  tomb-door  stood  between  his  helplessness 
to  move  and  her  warm  young  frantic  grief. 

It  would  have  meant  but  the  turn  of  a  key  to  open  the 
door.  The  barrier  between  them  was  no  more  than  that 
imaginary  wall  between  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  in  The 
Weaver's  play,  but  Noll  felt  hardly  so  much  as  an  impulse 
to  remove  the  wall.  Her  sorrow  and  his  love  were  guar 
dians  incorruptible. 

He  kept  murmuring  through  to  her  messages  of  courage, 
adding  rash  promises  that  they  would  find  her  mother  and 
her  sister  in  Dofnay  in  the  morning  if  she  would  be  good  and 
brave  and  go  back  to  sleep. 

And  at  last,  because  the  thirst  for  tears  had  been  sated, 
and  she  had  wearied  the  muscles  of  sorrow,  and  because 
she  wanted  not  to  distress  her  friend  too  much,  she  ceased 

189 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  cry  and  told  him  that  she  was  all  right  and  would  go  to 
sleep  at  once.  And  she  did. 

He,  too,  as  our  quaint  saying  is,  "went  to  sleep,"  for 
he  was  young  and  tired,  and  a  man's  heart  is  but  a  vessel 
that  must  be  filled  again  after  it  has  poured  out  what  it 
holds.  Outside,  the  night  belonged  to  the  hushed  voices 
of  the  foreign  sentinels  and  the  slow  tread  of  their  weary 
feet,  and  to  the  chimes  drifting  down  from  the  towers 
of  the  cathedral  church  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  Gudule, 
established  in  Brussels  almost  a  thousand  years  ago. 

The  bells  had  counseled  "Patience!"  as  sweetly  over 
innumerable  past  tragedies  and  would  sound  on  over  as 
many  more,  perhaps,  for  another  thousand  years. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  next  morning  was  the  last  day  of  the  evil  year  of 
1914,  and  the  only  cheerful  thought  about  it  was  that 
the  new  year  could  not  possibly  be  so  bad. 

Every  Belgian  felt  that  "in  three  months  more"  spring 
would  solve  the  acrid  winter,  fetch  flowers  from  the  black 
soil,  and  set  peace  abloom  on  the  briers  of  war.  For  hope, 
like  a  lying  nurse,  lures  us  frightened  children  past  one 
terror  at  a  time  to  the  next,  with  promises  incessantly 
exposed,  incessantly  renewed,  incessantly  believed. 

Noll  and  Dimny  made  so  early  a  start  that  Dimny's  spy 
did  not  see  her  go.  They  did  not  know  what  they  had 
missed.  They  were  so  exultant  with  confidence  that  they 
took  their  frequent  arrests  as  merely  so  many  bumps  in 
the  path.  They  ran  out  of  Brussels  on  the  Louvain  road, 
and  into  the  shattered  city. 

Just  before  they  entered  the  long  Rue  de  Bruxelles, 
which  becomes  the  Rue  de  la  Station,  Alice  Parcot  left  the 
Tudesq  home  to  carry  a  bowl  of  broth  she  had  made,  to  a 
woman  whose  bayonet-wounds  had  not  yet  healed.  She 
made  her  way  with  haste,  because  the  air  was  keen  and 
because  the  German  officers  and  soldiers  had  so  many  com 
ments  to  make  as  she  passed. 

She  walked  down  the  street  and  picked  her  way  across  as 
the  motor  that  carried  Dimny  and  Noll  bore  down  on  her 
with  such  speed  that  if  she  had  slipped  on  the  ice  they 
might  have  struck  her.  But  they  were  staring  at  the  ruins, 
and  Dimny  was  pointing  out  the  metal  hand  that  still 
swung  before  what  was  left  of  what  had  been  a  glover's  shop. 

Alice  did  not  look  their  way,  nor  they  hers.  Sometimes 
it  seems  as  if  the  fates  were  trying  to  see  how  close  they  can 
come  to  granting  happiness  without  quite  granting  it. 

Dimny's  mother  and  sister  did  not  think  to  look  for 

191 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

them  passing  in  the  dismal  street.  Misfortune  loved  them 
all  too  well  to  end  their  trials  so  soon. 

Out  of  Louvain,  Noll  struck  north  and  shot  along  the 
road  that  Mrs.  Parcot  and  Alice  had  trudged  in  such 
miserable  leisureliness.  The  road  swung  eastward  through 
shattered  Aerschot,  where  nearly  four  hundred  houses  were 
burned  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  civilians  were  shot  dead, 
including  the  burgomaster,  his  brother,  and  his  fifteen-year- 
old  son,  and  where  the  burgomaster's  unsuccessful  rival  in 
the  last  election  vainly  offered  to  die  in  his  stead. 

The  car  went  skimming  through  Diest,  Haelen  and 
Hasselt  and  Tongres,  each  town  a  blemish  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  but  a  deeper  blemish  on  German  history.  As 
they  drew  near  Dofnay,  their  world  was  suddenly  alive  with 
snow,  great  faltering  flakes  of  pity  like  weary  gray  doves 
wandering  slowly  down  the  air.  It  seemed  to  snow  upon 
their  hearts  and  smother  the  fires  of  resentment  under  a 
pall  of  ineffable  regret. 

They  had  come  fast  and  far,  and  it  was  barely  two 
o'clock;  yet  the  snow  made  a  twilight.  Unconsciously 
Noll  checked  the  speed  of  the  car  to  a  funeral  pace  appro 
priate  to  the  death  of  this  town.  There  had  been  homes 
here,  beautiful  and  humble,  and  churches  and  little  shops. 
Now  there  were  gruesome  things  as  obscene  as  broken 
teeth  in  a  cracked  skull.  There  had  been  people  here  with 
lives  to  live,  children  and  flowers  to  raise,  clothes  to  make 
and  wear,  ambitions,  jealousies,  loves,  hates,  successes  and 
failures. 

Now  there  were  living  corpses  with  dried-up  hearts, 
corpses  that  had  buried  six  hundred  of  their  dead  under 
crosses  of  wood  and  crude  headstones  with  names  duly 
inscribed.  Two  hundred  more  of  their  neighbors  and  their 
children  they  had  buried  anonymously  because  no  one 
could  tell  who  they  had  been  from  what  the  machine-guns, 
the  bayonets,  and  the  flames  had  left  of  their  poor  bodies. 
A  child  three  weeks  old  was  the  youngest  that  perished 
here,  and  a  woman  of  eighty  the  oldest. 

That  was  pure  massacre,  savage  gorilla-work,  and  the 
snow  swirling  now  in  the  rising  wind  seemed  to  be  no 
longer  doves  fluttering  from  heaven,  but  tormented  souls 

192 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  ashes  of  tormented  bodies  agonizing  upward  in 
vain. 

There  had  been  a  proud  bridge,  but  that  had  been  blown 
to  ruins,  and  Noll  crossed  on  an  ugly  military  structure. 
It  was  the  river  Meuse,  which  he  and  Dimny  had  crossed  in 
Holland  as  the  Maas.  On  the  other  side  of  the  river  had 
been  a  church  of  the  thirteenth  century;  one  of  its  two 
towers  had  been  tumbled  through  the  roof.  Its  rose- 
window,  as  Halasi  puts  it,  "stood  out  like  a  vast  'O,'  an 
everlasting  exclamation  of  horror  and  grief." 

A  little  farther  on  was  a  raggea  fragment  of  wall 
surrounding  a  chaos  of  smoke-blackened  stones,  and  brick 
and  mortar,  melted  glass,  twisted  wires  and  pipes,  burned 
remnants  of  narrow  beds,  a  split  cross,  a  pair  of  cracked 
bells,  a  distorted  crucifix  with  a  burned  and  broken  Christ. 

They  guessed  that  this  was  the  burial  ground  of  the 
convent,  its  ideals,  its  school,  its  placid  dignity.  Seeing 
an  aged  nun  standing  in  the  snow  and  mourning  over  the 
ruins,  they  moved  up  to  where  she  stood,  so  lost  in  reveries 
that  she  did  not  know  of  their  existence  until  Dimny  and 
Noll  had  stepped  from  the  car  and  Dimny  had  gone  in 
front  of  her  and  called  her  "Sister." 

The  old  nun  started,  smiled  with  apology  for  her  surprise, 
then  stared,  gasped,  cried  out,  and  caught  Dimny  in  her 
arms,  sobbing: 

"Alice,  c'est  toil  Tu  est  revenue!  Ma  petite  Alice! 
Ah  comme  fen  suis  reconnaissante  au  ban  Dieu.  Et  ta 
mere?  Madame  Par  cot — " 

She  looked  at  Noll,  but  Dimny  was  struggling  in  her 
embrace,  explaining  that  she  was  not  Alice. 

The  old  nun  gazed  at  Dimny  closely,  incredulously,  saw 
that  her  hair  was  dark  where  it  escaped  from  the  veil  tight 
bound  about  Dimny's  head.  She  apologized  for  her  mis 
take  and  blamed  her  old  eyes  and  the  dim  light,  but  in 
sisted  that  there  was  a  certain  likeness  in  the  unlikeness. 
Then  she  asked  news  of  Alice,  and  of  her  mother. 

Dimny's  heart  bled  at  this,  and  she  cried  that  it  was  fc* 
news  of  them  that  she  had  crossed  America  and  the  ocean 
and  all  Belgium. 

The  nun,  Sceur  Julie,  shook  her  head  in  new  distress. 

193 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  led  her  away  from  Noll  and  talked  earnestly  with 
her.  Noll  knew  that  she  was  telling  her  of  the  letter  from 
Alice  and  that  the  sister  was  confirming  the  horror.  They 
talked  a  long  while  before  they  came  back  to  Noll,  and 
now  Dimny  was  drooping  from  the  sister's  arm  in  despair. 

"The  sister  has  no  idea  where  they  are,  if  they  are  alive 
at  all.  She  has  prayed  for  the  repose  of  their  souls  if  they 
are — not  here.  Where  can  they  be ?  Where  can  they  be?" 

They  stood  in  the  snow  while  she  went  through  the 
depths  of  loneliness.  Then  he  whispered  to  her: 

"We'll  find  them.  They  are  safe  somewhere.  I'll  find 
them.  I  promise  to  God  I'll  find  them  for  you,  if  you'H 
just  give  me  a  little  time.  We  must  get  back  to  Brussels 
and  start  from  there.  We'll  hunt  every  inch  of  ground  in 
Belgium.  They're  alive  and  well — I  know  it.  They  are 
waiting  for  you  somewhere." 

She  lacked  the  will  even  to  oppose  this  harsh  project. 

The  road  back  seemed  longer  far  than  before,  because  they 
had  no  tug  of  hope  to  hurry  them  forward.  The  wind 
grew  bitterer  and  lashed  them  with  snow  turning  to  sleet. 

They  reached  Brussels  after  dark  and  by  degrees  were  ad 
mitted  through  the  lines  to  the  Palace  Hotel.  It  seemed  to 
justify  its  name,  for  it  had  a  roof;  it  was  light  and  warm, 
with  its  walls  unbroken,  its  floors  carpeted. 

Dimny  slept  long  that  night  and  late  and  woke  refreshed 
for  suffering.  She  found  under  her  door  a  note  from  Noll 
saying  that  he  had  gone  to  the  office  of  the  C.  R.  B.  to 
start  all  its  machinery  to  work  on  the  search.  She  blessed 
him  in  her  heart. 

She  went  down  to  breakfast,  then  back  to  her  cold  room 
to  wait.  She  sat  at  her  window  in  a  kind  of  stupor  and 
pored  over  the  white  roofs  of  Brussels  and  the  Piace 
Charles  Rogier,  and  the  sentinels  tracking  the  snow,  the 
traffic  struggling  along  the  slippery  pavements,  the  news 
boys  in  shawls  shivering  and  dancing  as  they  cried  their 
papers  in  pantomime.  Suddenly  she  was  aware  that  some 
one  had  entered  the  room  softly. 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  saw  a  burly  figure 
and  a  one-sided  smile  extended  by  the  crease  of  a  scar  to 
the  missing  lobe  of  one  ear. 

194 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EEUTENANT-COLONEL  KLEMM,  whose  name  she 
did  not   know  but  whose   face  was   a  signal   of   all 
alarm,  came  forward  and  drew  a  chair  close  to  hers.     She 
was  too  chilled  with  the  winter  and  with  her  fear  of  him  to 
speak. 

He  spoke  in  treacly  English. 

"And  now,  Miss  Parcot,  I  guess  ve  goingk  to  resume 
our  little  talkingk.     You   did  say  at   Esschen  dat   you 
have  not  been  in  Belchum  since  you  are  a  child.     But  dat 
is  for  the  young  mans  you  are  vit,  I  guess — not?     Surely 
now  you  rememper  me,  since  long  before  Esschen,  yes?" 
Dimny  shook  her  head  stubbornly.     He  was  vexed : 
"Gott,  but  yes  you  do.      And  dat  old  lady — your  Mutter 
— she  is  no  longer  vit  you?" 

Now  Dimny  understood.  Sister  Julie  had  taken  her  for 
Alice  at  first  sight.  This  man  had  made  the  same  mis 
take.  He  spoke  of  her  mother.  He  must  have  seen  them 
together!  But  when?  Where?  The  questions  leaped 
from  her  eager  lips. 

"Where  is  it  you  saw  us,  my  mother  and  me?" 
Something  in  her  anxiety  caught  his  quick  suspicion. 
He  sparred  for  time. 

' '  You  esk  me  ?    Vy  not  tell  me  ?" 
She  followed  him  up  too  zealously  for  subtlety : 
"You  insisted  that  you  met  me.     I  told  you  I  didn't 
remember.     I  asked  you  where.     That  was  all." 

He  smiled  grimly.  "Dat  is  not  all,  I  guess.  Do  you 
rememper  my  arms  aroundt  you — so?" 

Klemm's  arms  were  groping  out  to  close  round  her  now, 
and  she  could  think  of  no  escape.  Even  if  she  had  possessed 
\  weapon  to  kill  him  with,  his  destruction  would  have  re- 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

moved  the  one  person  in  her  ken  who  could  tell  her  news  of 
her  mother  and  sister. 

Yet  even  he  could  not  know  where  they  were  at  the 
moment ;  otherwise  he  would  not  have  mistaken  Dimny  for 
Alice.  Still,  he  had  seen  Alice  and  her  mother  together, 
and  if  Dimny  could  only  learn  where  that  was,  she  would 
have  a  starting-place  for  her  search.  She  might  find 
them  actually  waiting  where  Klemm  had  seen  them  last. 
Dimny  must  work  a  double  stratagem :  she  must  evade  her 
captor  without  letting  him  escape;  she  must  wheedle  a 
secret  from  him  without  his  suspecting  that  it  was  a  secret. 

If  she  had  been  a  Judith  or  a  Delilah,  she  could  have  won 
him  to  her  power  by  yielding  to  him,  but  she  was  incapable 
of  a  sophisticated  unclean  duplicity  even  for  such  a  purpose. 
She  was  not  great  enough,  or  too  good,  or  not  good  enough; 
at  least,  too  young  of  mind  to  reason  it  out.  An  irresistible 
instinct  overwhelmed  her  with  loathing. 

The  thought  that  her  poor  sister  had  been  crushed  in 
the  very  arms  that  enveloped  her  now  made  her  gorge 
rise  at  the  thought.  She  rose  and  retreated  sidelong  out  of 
his  reach.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  pursued  her.  She 
darted  behind  a  table.  Failing  to  clutch  her  across  it,  he 
ran  round  it.  She  thwarted  his  path  with  a  chair  that 
checked  him  long  enough  for  her  to  reach  the  window, 
throw  it  open  and  poise  on  the  snowy  sill  for  a  leap  to 
death. 

He  gasped  with  fright  and  retreated  in  proof  of  surrender. 
She  made  ready  to  jump,  and  he  groaned  aloud  at  the 
thought  of  such  a  waste  of  beauty,  even  more  than  at  the 
frustration  of  his  success  as  a  spy-hunter.  He  put  up  his 
hands  in  an  attitude  of  surrender  and  cried: 

"Shtop!    Shtop.     Come  avay,  once!" 

"You  promise  not  to  touch  me?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  promise,  on  my  honor  as  a  Cherman  soldier." 

She  laughed  bitterly  at  that,  but  there  was  nothing  better 
to  expect,  and  she  was  chilled  horribly  by  the  gust  of  icy 
wind  and  the  vision  of  that  far-down  pavement  where  a 
sheet  of  snow  she  had  dislodged  from  the  sill  was  silently 
broken  to  bits.  She  made  to  close  the  window.  It  was 
heavy  and  stubborn.  He  could  not  permit  her  delicate 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

hands  such  a  task.  Chivalry  has  always  been  the  most 
inconsistent  of  impulses,  and  it  is  perfectly  natural  for  a 
man  to  save  from  a  smirch  or  an  effort  the  hands  of  a  woman 
whose  soul  he  would  proudly  befoul. 

Dimny  recoiled  from  the  approach  of  Klemm,  but  when 
he  had  closed  the  window,  he  had  cut  her  off  from  escape 
by  the  mystic  door  of  suicide.  The  wooden  door  into  the 
hall  he  had  locked  when  he  entered  the  room.  He  was 
still  shaken  by  the  fright  she  had  given  him.  To  permit  a 
beautiful  young  spy  to  fling  herself  from  a  window  would 
not  improve  his  rating  as  a  spy-catcher.  And  his  fame 
as  a  lady-killer  would  become  a  joke  if  he  actually  killed 
a  lady. 

"I  not  goingk  to  hoort  you,"  he  pleaded.  "I  voot  be 
your  frient." 

"Then  unlock  the  door  and  go  away!"  said  Dimny. 

"  But  I  have  much  talkingk  to  make  vit  you." 

"I  will  come  down  to  the  reception-hall." 

' '  Ve  can  talk  better  here  as  there.  You  might  be  arrested 
by  somebody  else." 

"Arrested?    Again?    For  what?" 

"Because  you  ditt  shlip  avay  from  the  hotel  yesterday 
morningk  so  early  that  our  guaft  did  not  see  you.  He  vas 
eatingk  his  coffee  ven  you  ditt  make  escapingk." 

"'  I  didn't  know  I  had  a  guard." 

"Everybody  in  die  Belgien  has  a  guart." 

"Thanks!    I'll  remember  that." 

"  Vere  ditt  you  gone?" 

"I'd  rather  not  tell." 

"Oh,  I  know." 

"Then  why  ask?" 

"To  hear  vat  you  should  say.  Ve  get  reports  every 
place  you  stop.  You  ditt  go  by  Dofnay,  vere  you  tell  me 
before  you  had  been  vit  your  so-called  Mutter,  your  Mam- 
machen,  who  live  vit  you  in  dat  house  in — " 

She  lifted  her  head  so  quickly  and  listened  with  such  a 
startled  eagerness  for  the  name  of  the  town,  that  he  did 
not  finish  his  sentence.  Could  it  be  that  she  had  really 
forgotten  him  and  was  trying  to  find  out  where  their  paths 
had  crossed?  He  twisted  his  Kaiserian  mustache.  It  had 

197 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

drooped  a  little.  He  had  forgotten  to  wear  his  Schnurr- 
bartbinder  the  last  few  nights. 

Ah,  he  understood  it  all!  He  had  been  in  uniform  in 
Louvain.  He  was  in  mufti  now.  The  English  bowler,  the 
collar  and  cravat,  the  business  suit  made  a  different  man 
of  him  from  the  tremendous  figure  in  cap  and  belt  and 
blouse  and  boots  that  had  terrified  her  at  first  sight.  In 
Louvain  she  had  swooned  in  his  arms.  In  Brussels  she 
was  making  a  fool  of  him.  It  was  the  uniform  that  did 
it.  Klcider  machen  Leute.  All  the  world  was  going 
crazy  over  uniforms. 

After  the  encounter  in  Esschen  he  had  sped  to  Berlin 
and  looked  up  his  records.  He  found  that  the  two  Ameri 
can  women  in  the  Tudesq  home  had  given  their  names  as 
Judson,  but  that  Madame  Tudesq,  questioned  separately, 
had  called  them  Parcot.  The  girl  had  called  herself  Alice 
Judson.  Now  she  called  herself  Dimny  Parcot.  The  copy 
of  the  letter  Dimny  carried  had  not  reached  Berlin  before 
he  returned  to  Belgium.  He  still  believed  Dimny  to  be 
Alice.  He  thought  it  odd  that  she  should  cling  to  a  part 
of  her  name;  and  yet  he  knew  it  as  a  curious  part  of  spy- 
psychology  that  the  aliases  selected  are  usually  few  and 
of  a  persistent  similarity. 

Just  as  an  electric  wire  can  carry  a  great  number  of 
messages  at  the  same  time  in  opposite  directions,  so  the 
human  brain  can  carry  many  thoughts  at  once  in  simul 
taneous  layers  of  meditation.  Both  Dimny  and  Klemm 
were  thinking  in  several  strata  at  once.  She  annoyed 
him  by  her  refusal  to  flirt,  by  her  apparent  inability  to 
remember  him,  by  her  baffling  mixture  of  innocence  and 
shrewdness,  by  her  mysterious  errand  in  Belgium  and  her 
air  of  frank  simplicity. 

To  be  diverted  from  his  mission  by  a  pretty  girl's  fas 
cinations  would  be  disgraceful.  To  throw  her  into  prison 
would  be  to  destroy  the  bait  and  drive  the  fish  away. 
The  only  intelligent  course  was  to  disappear  from  her 
environs  and  let  his  unknown  shadows  keep  her  under 
espionage. 

But  Klemm  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  vanishing 
from  Dimny's  presence  without  leaving  some  definite 

198 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

impression  on  her  memory.  It  was  his  vanity  that  urged 
him  on  to  rashness,  and  vanity  of  a  sad  sort  is  a  strong 
trait  of  the  spy-type. 

Klemm  had  juggled  many  plans  while  he  stared  at 
Dimny,  but  his  first  remark  was  a  sudden : 

"For  vy  ditt  you  go  by  Dofnay?" 

"Oh,  I  had  heard  that  the  ruins  there  were  among  the 
best  in  Belgium." 

"Vat  for  a  business  you  got  in  Belchum?" 

"It's  none  of  yours,  if  you  please." 

"Oh,  but  yes!" 

"Then  since  you  know  your  business  so  well,  you  don't 
need  to  ask  me." 

"Better  you  should  not  be  so  sharp  by  me.  I  could  do 
you  much  harm,  you  should  know.  I  could  get  you 
shooted  or  put  in  prison.  I  can  make  it  that  you  are  de 
ported  to  Rotterdam,  or  to  a  detention-camp  in  Cher- 
many." 

"You  couldn't  keep  me  prisoner  in  Germany." 

"No?" 

She  almost  chanted  her  proud  answer : 

"I  am  an  American!     Don't  forget  that!" 

He  laughed:  " It  is  not  much  to  forget.  And  if  America 
forgets  you?" 

"She  won't.  She  would  protect  me.  She  would  come 
and  take  me  away  from  you." 

' '  How  takes  she  you  avay  ?  How  comes  she  to  find 
you?  Even  England  cannot  come  into  our  country  and 
take  somebody  out.  Englishmen  come  by  Deutschland 
only  as  prisoners." 

"You  are  at  war  with  England.  You  wouldn't  dare 
drag  America  in." 

"America  cannot  be  dragged  in.  Yenkees  cannot  fight. 
For  making  money  is  all  Yenkees  are  good.  Ve  can  do 
vat  ve  pleass  by  Americans,  and  nothing  comes  out." 

"You'll  see !  You'd  better  not  harm  any  more  American 
women." 

"American  vomen  and  chiltren  too!  You  shall  see. 
America  sells  muneetions  to  kill  Chermans.  Chermans  vill 
kill  Americans.  You  shall  see." 

109 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  knew  that  the  plans  were  already  laid  and  the  sub 
marine  equipment  almost  perfected  for  the  policy  of  ruth- 
lessness  that  should  be  heralded  by  the  destruction  of  the 
Lusitania.  But  he  checked  his  indiscretion.  Also  he 
realized  that  he  was  getting  no  forwarder  with  Dimny. 
His  only  recourse  was  to  lull  her  suspicions  to  sleep  and 
encourage  her  to  a  rash  self-confidence  by  pretending  that 
she  had  baffled  him  completely. 

"For  your  protectingk,  I  esk  you  for  vy  you  ditt  go 
into  Hollant." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Since  I  ditt  see  you  last  vit  your  Mutter,  I  see  you 
in  Hollant  by  Rosendaal.  I  invite  you  to  rite  vit  me  in 
my  car.  You  refuset.  Next  I  see  you  by  light  of  my  car 
try  to  run  past  de  guart.  Next  I  find  you  in  de  car  of  de 
youngk  man  of  de  Tsay-Air-Bay.  For  vy  ditt  you  do 
dat?" 

Her  answer  was  a  sudden  question:  "That  reminds  me 
to  ask  you  what  became  of  Vrouw  Weenix?" 

"Who  is  it  she  is?" 

"The  poor  old  woman  who  was  arrested  by  the  Rosen 
daal  guard.  Did  any  harm  come  to  her?  I'd  die  if  I 
thought  that." 

He  looked  into  her  anxious  eyes,  and  he  could  not  tell 
her  that  Vrouw  Weenix  had  been  shot  to  death  the  next 
day  after  her  capture.  He  laughed,  not  altogether  con 
vincingly.  "Oh,  dat  old  vomans!  She  iss  all  right.  She 
had  a  passport.  She  ditt  go  back  to  her  home." 

"Oh,  thank  Heaven  for  that!"  Dimny  sighed.  "I'd 
never  forgive  myself  if  I  caused  her  any  hurt." 

Klemm  saw  that  he  gained  ground  with  Dimny  by  the 
bit  of  good  news. 

Furthermore,  he  felt  that  he  would  prosper  better  with 
her  if  he  pretended  to  give  up  her  persecution  and  met  her 
next  as  if  by  accident,  especially  if  by  accident  he  should 
be  wearing  his  uniform.  If  he  were  to  catch  her  either  as 
spy  or  as  woman,  he  must  lay  his  ambush  with  better  skill. 
He  threw  himself  suddenly  on  her  mercy. 

"Miss  Parcot,  I  make  you  apologies.  I  have  been  most 
unkint.  I  loose  my  headt  because  you  are  so  beautiful  a 

200 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

youngk  lady,  and  it  makes  me  engry  because  you  do  not 
like  me  like  I  like  you.  But  I  know  pedder  now,  and  I 
esk  you  to  forgive,  pleass.  I  prove  I  vant  to  be  frients  vit 
you  if  you  let  me  help  you.  You  come  here  for  some  busi 
ness.  Tell  me.  I  can  help  you!" 

She  stared  at  him  in  a  new  confusion.  She  could  neither 
understand  nor  rely  upon  his  abrupt  conversion  from  a  brute 
to  a  cavalier.  Yet  she  hesitated  to  discourage  such  a  ref 
ormation. 

"I  will  tell  you  my  business,  since  you  don't  know  it. 
I  have  come  to  try  to  find  a  number  of  English  girls  who 
were  caught  in  the  invasion  and  can't  get  back  to  their 
homes.  They  do  you  no  good  as  prisoners.  They  are  only 
in  the  way." 

" Engldnderinnen!"  he  snarled.  "So!  You  are  here  for 
English !  It  is  English  money  dat  hires  you !" 

"They  pay  me  no  money.  It  is  for  common  humanity 
that  I  am  working." 

"But  for  England!  How  could  I  help  you  to  help  Eng 
land?" 

"  It  is  to  save  your  people  as  well  as  the  English.  There 
are  many  German  girls  in  England  who  want  to  get  home. 
You  ought  to  be  glad  to  exchange  them." 

Klemm  pondered  this  unexpected  situation.  He  had  a 
young  cousin  in  England.  His  aunt  had  not  heard  from 
her  since  the  outbreak  of  war  and  was  not  sure  that  she 
had  not  been  butchered  by  the  English.  His  aunt  had 
wept  much  and  implored  his  aid  in  vain. 

Whether  he  was  decided  by  the  chance  to  recover  his 
cousin  and  the  other  girls  whom  German  mothers  be 
wailed,  or  whether  he  was  simply  trying  to  win  Dimny  to 
confide  in  him,  he  promised  to  help  her.  She  got  out  the 
list.  Its  length  surprised  him.  He  said: 

"  It  is  eassy  for  me  to  fint  dese  gerls,  but  to  get  dem  out 
of  Belchum  is  not  in  my  power.  Only  von  Bissingk  can 
do  dat." 

"But  you  say  you  can  find  the  girls?" 

"Sure!  Everybody  is  in  de  Registratur.  I  fint  dem 
eassy.  But  efter  I  fint,  it  is  for  you  to  get  out." 

He  pledged  that  he  would  tell  her  just  where  they  all 
14  201 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

were.  He  would  show  her  how  efficiently  the  German  en 
rolment-system  worked.  He  copied  the  names  in  his 
memorandum-book,  restored  the  list  to  her  and  put  out 
his  hand.  Dimny  could  hardly  refuse  it  now.  She  gave 
it  to  him,  and  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  Then  he  turned  for 
the  door. 

Dimny  realized  that  he  was  about  to  get  away  without 
telling  her  where  he  had  seen  Alice  and  her  mother.  She 
was  as  amazed  as  he  was  when  she  said : 

"Don't  go!" 

"  I  come  beck,  by  your  leaf." 

"Do!  But  you  haven't  told  me  where  it  was  you  met 
me." 

He  thought  of  his  uniform  and  his  plan  to  appear  in 
her  presence  in  full  regalia. 

"The  next  time  you  see  me,  you  goingk  to  rememper,  1 
guess." 

He  bowed  himself  out.  The  first  place  he  went  was  the 
telegraph-office.  There  he  sent  a  telegram  in  code  with 
his  code-number  attached,  asking  No.  70  Koniggratzer- 
strasse  to  send  him  at  once  a  copy  of  the  copy  of  the  letter 
found  on  Dimny  Parcot  during  the  search  at  Esschen. 

He  received  an  answer  a  little  later  that  the  copy  was 
being  forwarded  in  the  official  mail  pouch. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DIMNY  was  no  nearer  than  before  to  the  object  of  her 
voyage.  She  longed  to  run  after  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Klemm  and  demand  the  answer  to  her  question.  By  the 
time  she  had  stepped  out  into  the  hall  he  had  gone. 

She  saw  a  strange  man  dart  through  an  opposite  door. 
He  had  the  air  of  a  surprised  shadow.  She  felt  unsafe  with 
such  a  guardian  and  resolved  to  find  Noll  at  once. 

She  fastened  her  hat  on  and  thrust  her  arms  into  her 
heavy  coat,  then  she  opened  the  door  suddenly  and  pre 
tended  not  to  see  that  the  same  man  dropped  back  into  the 
same  room  opposite.  As  she  walked  down  the  street  she 
paused  to  look  into  a  shop  window  and  her  side  glance 
caught  the  shadow  following  her  trail. 

She  was  tempted  to  lead  him  in  a  wild  chase  and  lose 
him,  but  she  decided  that  playing  jokes  on  the  German 
police  was  poor  business. 

She  went  as  straight  as  she  could  toward  the  office  of  the 
C.  R.  B.  She  passed  several  soup-kitchens  and  bread-lines 
at  this  hour.  Once  as  a  child  in  London  she  had  seen  a  long 
queue  of  poor  people  standing  out  in  the  rainy  snow,  wait 
ing  for  the  doors  of  the  pit  to  open  so  that  they  might 
scramble  in  for  the  best  seats  at  the  pantomime.  But  these 
Belgian  wretches  were  waiting  for  bread. 

Poor,  shivering  victims  of  alien  guilt  they  stood,  bare 
headed,  famine-wrung,  sleet-bitten,  pride-fallen  waifs  of  all 
ages;  dejected  men;  women  with  scarfs  about  their  throats; 
women  cowled  in  shawls;  women  old,  young,  and  middle- 
some.  One  woman  stood  in  the  snow  in  cloth  bedroom 
mules;  one  in  high-heeled  white-satin  dancing-slippers. 
Others  wore  wooden  shoes  and  stamped  to  keep  their  feet 
from  freezing,  and  their  sabots  made  a  strange,  bony 
clatter  like  a  skeleton's  clog.  Those  at  the  head  of  the  line 

203 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

were  being  served  by  Belgian  women.  They  held  out  cards 
in  their  hands,  and  these  were  punched  by  the  distributers 
as  the  alms  were  delivered. 

One  little  girl  huddling  in  an  old  blanket  let  her  ticket 
drop,  and  was  so  cold  that  she  almost  fell  on  her  face  as  she 
reached  for  it.  Dimny  picked  it  up  for  her  and  added  some 
money  to  it. 

She  skirted  the  edge  of  a  public  square  where  a  huge 
block  of  German  soldiers  in  mass  formation  went  through 
the  ceremony  of  a  dress  parade.  The  band  was  playing. 
Officers  were  saluting,  horses  prancing,  platoons  gliding 
past  the  reviewing  officers  like  lines  of  men  cut  out  of  wood 
— all  the  right  feet  raised  goose-step  high,  all  the  left  feet 
slanting  to  the  rear.  The  army  in  its  splendor  turned  its 
back  on  the  poverty  and  hunger  it  caused,  and  let  Ameri 
cans  administer  the  bounty  of  others  while  the  Germans 
passed  in  review  before  their  warrior  god,  singing  his 
praises. 

Dimny  passed  a  woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms;  the 
infant  was  blue  with  the  cold  and  the  mother  was  selling 
matches. 

The  hand  she  outstretched  shook  so  that  the  paper 
money  Dimny  laid  in  the  palm  drifted  to  the  icy  ground. 
The  young  mother  bent  to  snatch  it  before  the  wind  got  it, 
and  when  she  straightened  up  her  motions  were  wooden 
with  chill.  She  poured  out  thanks,  and  then  hurried  away 
to  get  food  that  should  swell  her  breasts  with  milk  for  her 
babe. 

Dimny  passed  a  strutting  cock  of  the  Militdr-polizei. 
He  glared  at  her  and  growled : 

' '  Engldnderin! ' ' 

She  shook  her  head.  He  seized  her  arm.  She  explained 
to  him  that  she  was  American,  and  asked  the  direction  to 
the  Rue  de  Naples,  No.  46;  and  that  convinced  him.  He 
scowled  as  he  released  her  and  vented  his  wrath  on  a  group 
of  boys  who  were  playing  soldier  in  front  of  a  grinning 
sentinel. 

They  wore  helmets  of  paper.  They  carried  sticks  for 
rifles  and  had  a  small  log  mounted  on  a  velocipede  for 
artillery.  Their  lieutenantlet  gave  his  orders  in  a  shrill 

204 


THE   UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

voice,  burlesquing  the  German  accent.  They  had  picked  up 
a  number  of  German  commands  from  the  eternal  reiteration 
of  them  throughout  their  town. 

"HabtAcht!  Marschieren — Marsch!  Halt!  Gewehr  auf! 
Gewehr  ab!  Prasentiert  das  Gewehr!"  And  so  on,  to  the  great 
delight  of  the  sentinel.  But  the  boys  had  a  joke  they  were 
leading  up  to,  trusting  to  their  heels  to  get  them  out  of 
harm's  way.  This  was  a  sarcasm  on  the  Germans'  pre 
mature  boast  that  they  were  on  their  way  to  Paris.  The 
boys  played  it  now.  Their  commander,  after  various 
evolutions,  gave  the  order: 

"Nock  Paris— Marsch!" 

The  boys  marched  backward. 

The  sentinel  looked  sick.  The  boys  were  so  busy  enjoying 
his  discomfiture  that  they  did  not  see  the  advancing  military 
policeman.  They  backed  straight  into  the  ambush  of  his 
outstretched  hands. 

He  seized  two  of  them  by  the  shoulder  and,  whirling 
them,  lifted  them  into  the  air  on  the  toe  of  his  heavy  boots. 
He  laughed  as  they  limped  away  howling. 

Dimny  longed  for  heavenly  thunderbolts  to  blast  him 
with,  but  there  was  no  one  to  appeal  to.  She  stored  up  her 
horror  and  made  her  own  escape,  round  a  corner. 

At  length  Dimny  reached  the  office  of  the  C.  R.  B.  and 
found  Noll  Winsor  there.  The  building  was  ornate,  the 
furnishings  the  relics  of  that  recent  antiquity  when  Brussels 
reeked  with  prosperity.  The  office  where  Noll  worked  was 
paneled  with  oak  in  wall  and  ceiling.  Mirrors  flashed,  and 
on  the  mantel  fat  cupids  writhed  from  overeating.  Noll 
looked  up  from  an  American  telephone  and  motioned  her  to 
a  profound  arm-chair.  In  such  a  business  palace  whence 
the  business  had  flown  the  Yankee  invaders  were  organizing 
the  war  on  famine.  Beatrice  Harraden  said  that  "this 
handful  of  American  business  men  showed  an  imagination 
equaled  by  nothing  in  the  realm  of  imagination  con 
ceived  and  achieved." 

Noll  told  Dimny  of  the  efforts  already  under  way  to  trace 
her  mother  and  sister.  He  had  been  telephoning,  writing, 
and  sending  out  couriers. 

He  expressed  more  confidence  than  he  felt.  What  he 

205 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

hoped,  he  said  he  was  sure  of;  what  he  felt  might  take 
weeks,  he  said  might  take  days. 

He  had  arranged  to  have  a  description  of  the  missing 
women  sent  to  the  distributing  committee  in  every  parish 
or  village. 

He  explained  the  organization  to  her  with  all  the  con 
descension  of  one  who  has  just  learned  a  thing  and  finds 
another  who  is  still  ignorant: 

"You  see  this  Commission  is  a  kind  of  charity  trust, 
combining  with  the  Belgian  National  Committee  to  monop 
olize  famine.  I  suppose  we'd  all  be  put  in  the  penitentiary 
at  home  for  violating  the  Sherman  law  or  something.  The 
British  told  Mr.  Hoover  that  they  would  have  put  him  in  the 
Tower  for  what  he  did  if  it  weren't  for  such  a  cause. 

"We've  got  a  hundred  committees  and  four  thousand 
subcommittees  all  over  the  world,  collecting  funds.  There 
are  nearly  three  thousand  communal  committees  and  each 
one  has  a  little  commune  of  six  or  seven  hundred  people  to 
take  care  of. 

"Anybody  who  wants  help  has  to  bring  in  a  carte 
d'identite  and  a  photograph  and  give  name  and  property  and 
previous  condition  of  servitude.  So  if  your  mother  and 
sister  are  living  on  charity,  as  half  the  people  have  to,  why, 
their  committeemen  will  know  who  they  are  and  recognize 
them  from  our  description,  and  let  them  know  you  are  here." 

"But  suppose  they  are  not  living  on  charity?  Mamma 
brought  over  a  lot  of  money." 

"The  Germans  may  have  taken  it  away  from  her.  I'm 
sure  she  would  be  registered  on  our  lists.  So  don't  you 
v/orry  any  more  for  a  few  days." 

But  Dimny's  premonition  was  right. 

Hoping  little,  yet  compelled  to  wait  for  days  until  the 
questionnaires  went  out  and  the  answers  came  in,  she  re 
solved  to  make  a  personal  search  of  Brussels. 

Premonitions,  presentiments,  all  sorts  of  fantasies  drove 
her  on.  In  youth,  especially,  what  one  longs  for  fiercely 
one  believes;  what  seems  to  be  too  cruel  to  be  true  one 
"knows"  to  be  untrue;  what  one  needs  utterly  one  ex 
pects  ;  •  what  one  thinks  ought  to  be  one  knows  will  be.  A 
thousand  disappointments  are  forgotten  and  one  happy 

206 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

coincidence  is  recorded  as  proof.  In  later  years  the  soul, 
learning  the  bitter  lesson  that  the  intensity  and  the  merit 
of  the  desire  have  nothing  to  do  with  its  fulfilment,  grows 
to  despise  this  unreliable  life  and  to  orotract  its  hopes  to 
another  world. 

Dimny  was  still  young  enough  to  flatter  existence  with 
a  confidence  in  its  benevolence  and  justice.  She  began 
to  patrol  the  city.  As  at  Rosendaal,  she  was  teased  on 
by  the  conviction  that  her  people  were  in  the  home  a 
little  farther  on,  or  in  the  second  shop.  She  thought  she 
saw  them  turning  the  next  corner,  and  ran  after  them. 
Often  her  heart  would  leap  and  beat  her  breast  with  wild 
exultance  as  her  eyes  made  them  out  on  the  street  coming 
toward  her.  She  would  press  forward,  hardly  able  to  keep 
from  screaming  aloud.  And  always  it  was  somebody  else, 
somebody  who  had  no  resemblance  to  them  at  all.  And 
she  would  sink  back  into  the  depths  of  forlorn  loneliness, 
hardly  able  to  keep  from  sobbing  aloud. 

She  asked  many  questions  and  learned  the  chief  gather 
ing-places  of  the  populace. 

She  went  to  the  Hippodrome,  whose  circus  spaces  were 
now  turned  into  a  vast  clothing-store  employing  fifteen 
thousand  people.  Hundreds  of  them  cut  out  or  sewed  up 
garments  in  the  building,  or  made  up  packages  which 
were  distributed  among  thousands  of  women  who  toiled 
at  home. 

She  heard  of  the  society  of  the  Little  Bees,  Les  P elites 
Abeilles,  which  provided  more  than  twenty  thousand  feeble 
children  with  extra  nourishment.  Dimny  visited  one  of 
their  cantines  at  eleven  in  the  morning  when  the  children 
were  released  from  school  to  gain  strength  for  the  day. 

The  utter  cleanliness  was  the  work  of  scrub-ladies  of 
social  prestige.  Dimny  found  sixteen  hundred  white  soup- 
bowls  in  double  rows  along  the  slim  tables.  The  waitresses 
were  Belgian  ladies  who  had  in  their  day  had  servants 
waiting  on  them,  but  now  were  proud  to  give  themselves  to 
service. 

A  Lilliput  army  charged  through  the  rain  and  captured 
the  banquet-board.  Here  there  was  pillage  indeed,  a 
tremendous  clatter  of  spoons,  a  gurgling  of  soup,  shrieks 

207 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

of  conversation,  a  baby  Babel !  There  was  much  stratagem 
of  baby  stares,  pouting  lips,  honey  voices  wheedling  for  a 
little  more.  When  the  soup  was  lapped  up  and  the  sweet 
rice  pudding  came  in  they  greeted  it  with  ecstasy,  dancing 
as  they  sat. 

It  was  glorious  to  do  so  much,  but  tears  ran  with  the 
smiles  because  more  could  not  be  done;  because  these 
myriads  of  babies  must  receive  so  little,  at  such  moun 
tainous  cost;  because  throughout  the  world  babies  were 
crying  in  vain  for  food  and  slowly  withering  back  to  death 
like  rosebuds  in  a  drought — "sweet  flowers  no  sooner 
blown  but  blasted."  Dimny  lingered  to  help  the  Belgian 
ladies  lug  the  dishes  away  and  wash  them.  The  children 
had  already  licked  them  almost  clean. 

Failing  to  get  any  trace  of  her  people  among  any  of  the 
many  hives  of  Little  Bees,  Dimny  turned  with  sick  heart 
to  the  charity  known  as  the  "  Drop  of  Milk."  At  the  can- 
tines  of  the  Goutte  de  Lait  young  mothers  and  mothers-to-be 
were  strengthened  with  extra  food  for  their  double  burden. 
These  luxurious  ones  reveled  in  a  thick  soup,  a  bit  of  meat 
or  an  egg,  and  a  little  milk  every  day !  They  had  medical 
advice,  too,  and  were  waited  upon  by  ladies  once  great  in 
the  land.  Fifty-three  thousand  babies  the  Relief  took 
care  of,  and  the  prize  for  a  careful  mother  was  a  little  lump 
of  white  lard. 

Fat  was  more  precious  than  gold,  and  the  time  was  to 
come  when  German  women  visiting  Holland  would  gorge 
themselves  with  fats  and  grow  drunk  upon  them,  tottering 
and  falling  from  the  intoxication  of  what  the  Americans 
called  a  "fat-jag." 

Dimny  blushed  to  seek  her  mother  and  sister  in  the 
Goutte  de  Lait  cantines,  but  she  knew  that  before  long  they 
might  have  to  make  their  appearance  there. 

She  walked  among  the  bread-lines  again  and  again  and 
she  studied  the  lists  of  that  exquisite  charity  which  pro 
vided  for  the  "ashamed  poor,"  those  who  had  known 
wealth  and  were  too  proud  to  accept  public  alms.  Even 
these  were  sought  out  in  the  hiding-places  where  they 
agonized  with  hunger. 

Dimny  wandered  the  inferno  of  want  like  a  Dante 

208 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

searching  hell  for  familiar  faces.  She  learned  much  of  what 
mankind,  womankind,  and  childhood  can  endure,  and  the 
needlessness  of  the  vast  famine  wrung  her  to  an  agony  of 
protest.  But  the  protest  died  upon  her  heart. 

A  nation  bitten  with  everlasting  hunger  was  pitiful 
enough,  yet  she  saw  an  almost  crueler  privation  in  the 
enforced  idleness  of  the  men.  It  was  a  cause  of  famine  and 
of  fierce  discontent.  There  had  never  been  in  history  such 
a  case  where  a  busy  people  of  seven  million  was  reduced  in  a 
day  to  the  bitterest  Jar  niente.  Belgium  was  the  most 
highly  industrialized  nation  in  the  world.  The  per-capita 
value  of  imports  and  exports  was  nearly  three  times  that  of 
Germany  and  five  times  that  of  the  United  States. 

Abruptly,  without  warning,  in  a  day,  imports  and  exports 
were  stopped  dead.  The  German  Government  forbade  the 
use  of  telephone  or  telegraph  to  the  Belgians;  all  letters 
were  censored  and  delayed,  if,  indeed,  they  were  passed  at 
all.  The  railroads  were  adapted  only  to  the  German  con 
venience  and  made  almost  impossible  to  the  Belgians. 
In  Captain  Lucey 's  words : 

"The  Belgians  could  not  travel  five  miles  without  a  pass 
which  it  might  take  them  a  week  to  obtain.  And  to  return 
from  the  place  to  which  the  pass  was  obtained  it  was 
necessary  to  obtain  another  pass,  which  it  might  take  them 
another  week  to  secure." 

The  horses  and  cattle  had  been  almost  entirely  requi 
sitioned,  together  with  the  grain,  the  food-supplies,  the 
stocks  of  cotton  and  wool,  the  machinery  in  many  fac 
tories,  the  gasolene.  The  use  of  automobiles  and  motor 
trucks  was  forbidden  to  the '  Belgians  and  their  draft- 
horses  were  carried  off  and  sold  in  Germany  at  auction, 
publicly,  as  booty  horses.  They  issued  a  proclamation  that 
people  riding  bicycles  were  to  blame  if  they  were  shot 
without  warning. 

They  imposed  outrageous  fines  of  staggering  amount  for 
the  least  excuse.  They  uttered  money  of  their  own  and 
turned  the  finances  into  chaos.  The  result  was  impover 
ishment  everywhere. 

The  gift  of  the  United  States  that  really  counted  was  its 
gift  of  men,  men  with  only  their  good  hearts  and  eager 

209 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

hands,  and  big  capitalists  who  gave  their  genius  for  or 
ganization.  Most  famous  of  these,  of  course,  was  Mr. 
Hoover.  Under  his  high  command,  America  entered  the 
war  against  Germany  actually  in  1914.  The  name  Hoover 
grew  quickly  to  be  a  world  name,  rivaling  the  Kaiser's  in 
familiarity  and  adding  to  the  language  a  new  verb. 

Frederick  Wilhelm  Victor  Albert  Hohenzollern  versus 
Herbert  Clark  Hoover! 

The  Kaiser  wrought  his  devastation  in  the  name  of  his 
God,  claiming  divine  ointment  and  divine  appointment, 
and  rarely  speaking  without  giving  Heaven  the  credit. 

The  name  of  God  and  the  claim  on  God  were  never 
asserted  by  Hoover.  He  toiled  merely  as  a  human  for  the 
sake  of  humanity. 

Hoover  and  the  Kaiser  were  both  frustrated  and  discon 
tent,  the  Kaiser  because  his  snatch  at  supreme  dominion 
did  not  succeed  in  a  few  weeks  and  his  dinner  at  Paris  was 
put  off,  sine  die,  while  armies  rose  against  him  everywhere 
and  his  divinity  was  so  flouted  that  the  very  name  of  re 
ligion  suffered  because  of  his  professions  of  it. 

Hoover  was  foiled  and  heartbroken,  too,  because  in  spite 
of  his  ferocity,  his  ruthlessness,  numberless  children  still 
went  hungry,  women  and  men  died  of  privation. 

Dimny  had  learned  much  of  the  work  of  Hoover  before 
she  saw  him.  She  was  at  the  office  when  he  came  in  one 
day.  He  looked  younger  than  she  expected,  a  trifle  grim, 
but  not  at  all  the  saint  that  legend  made  him.  He  listened 
to  Dimny's  little  speech  of  homage  with  a  characteristic 
silence,  jingling  coins  and  fingering  a  pencil  as  an  escape- 
valve  of  his  extra  steam. 

Dimny  relapsed  into  an  embarrassed  dumbness  and  Noll 
explained  a  part  of  her  errand. 

"That's  more  in  Whitlock's  line  than  ours,"  he  said. 
"Better  see  him." 

He  dictated  a  note  of  introduction  for  Noll  and  Dimny 
to  the  Ambassador  and  advised  Noll  to  run  across  to  the 
American  Legation  with  it. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  infinite  task  as  brusquely  as  if  he 
were  arranging  for  an  invoice  of  missing  machinery  instead 
of  the  loaves  and  fishes  of  a  Yankee  miracle. 

210 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  and  Noll  went  out  to  lunch  and  then  to  the  Rue 
de  Treves,  No.  74,  a  plain,  square  house  with  an  American 
flag  and  a  Legation  seal  to  distinguish  it.  They  were  not 
kept  waiting  long  by  the  Ambassador. 

Brand  Whitlock  looked  more  the  part.  He  was  tall  and 
lean  and  ascetic.  The  sorrows  of  this  people  seemed  to 
have  made  their  impress  upon  him,  but  that  was  because 
the  sorrows  of  people  always  had  made  deep  inroads  on 
his  studious  sympathy. 

He  was  a  novelist,  as  Henry  van  Dyke,  the  Ambassador 
to  Holland,  was,  and  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  the  Ambassador 
to  Italy.  Another  Page,  Ambassador  to  England,  was  an 
author,  editor,  and  publisher.  American  letters  had  never 
been  better  served  than  by  the  action  of  these  writers  who 
put  their  fictional  standards  into  fact. 

Whitlock  was  a  peculiarly  great-hearted  thinker,  a  scholar 
in  people,  a  master  of  human  laws  and  practices.  He  had 
come  to  believe  and  to  say  that  the  whole  idea  of  punish 
ment  was  wrong — that  the  punishment  of  criminals  for 
crimes  had  accomplished  nothing  to  balance  the  hideous 
weight  of  its  cruelty  and  vanity. 

It  was  his  fate  to  watch  the  merciless  punishment  of  a 
whole  nation  for  the  dubious  crime  of  patriotism,  to  see  the 
innocent  perishing  in  a  man-made  plague. 

It  was  also  his  fate  to  be  of  incalculable  help  to  a  sorrow 
ing  people,  to  add  a  new  colony  without  bloodshed  to  the 
domain  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Dimny  told  him  of  the  school-girls  she  was  hunting. 

He  had  heard  much  of  them  and  from  them,  but  his 
appeals  for  their  release  had  been  politely  denied. 

As  they  discussed  the  matter,  his  secretary  came  to  warn 
him  of  an  impending  call  from  the  Governor-General  him 
self,  the  Freiherr  von  Bissing,  then  a  recent  name  in  Belgian 
history,  but  soon  to  gain  an  unenviable  immortality. 

"He's  the  one  man  who  stands  between  those  girls  and 
their  home,"  said  Skelton,  who  had  come  in. 

"Maybe  I  can  get  him  out  of  the  way,"  said  Dimny. 
"Let  me  at  him!" 

She  said  it  with  the  pretty  ferocity  of  a  Charlotte  Corday 
about  to  remove  a  Marat. 

211 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHITLOCK  smiled  and  nodded,  and  then  turned  in 
his  plain  manner  and  his  plain  clothes  to  receive 
the  gorgeous  von  Bissing,  with  helmet  gleaming,  decorations 
radiant,  and  saber  knocking  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Whitlock  and  Mrs.  Lucey,  Mrs.  Hoover,  and  Mr. 
Hugh  Gibson,  Mr.  Vernon  Kellogg,  and  others  came  in  to 
be  presented  to  General  Baron  von  Bissing  and  the  Military 
Governor  of  Brussels,  General  Baron  von  Kraewel,and  their 
gorgeous  retinues. 

They  were  met  under  the  truce  of  afternoon  tea  and  there 
was  nothing  visible  or  audible  to  hint  that  the  Americans  re 
garded  the  Germans  as  monsters  of  raven  who  must  be 
stroked  and  kept  purring  for  the  sake  of  the  prey  in  their 
claws;  nor  that  the  Germans  regarded  the  Americans  as 
fussy,  meddlesome  old  ladies  who  must  be  humored  for  a 
while  till  the  more  urgent  business  of  conquest  was  finished. 

Whitlock's  heart  was  crying  aloud  within  him  against 
the  treacherous  tyrants,  but  they  were  his  guests  and  the 
Belgians  were  his  wards.  Dimny,  watching  the  chatter 
across  the  teacups,  and  seeing  the  jovial  warriors  through 
the  veils  of  their  cigarette  and  cigar  smoke,  was  tempted  to 
believe  that  what  she  had  seen  and  known  as  their  work  was 
only  a  grotesque  goblin  story. 

She  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  gracious  geniality  of 
von  Bissing's  long  smile  under  his  level  mustache,  that  she 
resolved  to  throw  herself  on  his  mercy,  assured  that  he  had 
an  abundance  of  it.  He  was  very  old.  He  had  overdrawn 
already  on  his  three  score  and  ten,  but  he  looked  gentle  and 
kindly. 

He  gave  her  an  ancient  hand  to  clasp  and  spoke  to  her 
nervously.  When  she  answered  even  more  slowly  than 
Skelton,  he  shifted  to  a  deliberate  and  labored  French. 

212 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  told  him  glibly  that  she  had  a  great  favor  to  ask  him, 
for  the  sake  of  his  own  people,  and  he  invited  her  to  come  to 
dinner  at  the  Chateau  des  Trois  Fontaines  the  following 
week. 

He  regretted  that  his  wife  the  baroness  had  not  yet 
joined  him  in  Belgium,  but  he  assured  Dimny  that  she 
would  be  properly  chaperoned. 

She  was  emboldened  to  say  that  her  affair  could  not  wait 
a  week.  Then  he  invited  her  to  call  at  the  headquarters 
in  the  morning.  He  wrote  her  a  pass  on  a  card  and  gave 
it  to  her. 

When  the  helmets  and  the  bemedaled  bosoms  were  gone 
the  Americans  relaxed  with  a  sigh  of  home-like  comfort. 

"What  a  very  nice  old  dragon  he  is!"  Dimny  exclaimed. 
"I  didn't  know  that  Prussians  could  be  so — so  velvety." 

"A  man  may  smile  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain  still,  as  the 
Bible  says,"  said  Skelton,  who  was  a  bit  hazy  about  his 
sources.  "  He  is  a  slick  old  fiend.  His  predecessor  von  der 
Goltz  Pasha  had  a  fat  old  heart,  comparatively.  I  guess  it 
was  his  association  with  the  Turks  that  civilized  his  German 
soul  a  little.  But  von  Bissing  had  no  such  advantages." 

''Why,  is  he  cruel?"  Dimny  gasped. 

"Cruel?"  said  Skelton.  "He  has  signed  death-warrants 
till  he  holds  the  record.  He  was  a  chum  of  the  Kaiser  in  his 
youth,  and  when  he  was  appointed,  he  announced  that  his 
royal  master  had  deigned  to  appoint  him  Governor-General, 
so  he  would  be  it.  He  is  the  Belgian  Kaiser  now. 

"He  shoots  men  and  women  who  help  Belgians  to  escape 
and  he  puts  a  murderous  tax  on  the  absent.  He  is  collecting 
a  fine  of  eight  million  dollars  a  month  from  Belgium  and  he 
expects  to  increase  it.  And  because  the  Belgians  don't 
trust  him  and  his  pack,  he  calls  them  'idiots  and  ingrates'! 
I  think  that's  the  sublimest  thing  the  Germans  have  said 
yet!  They  accuse  the  Belgians  of  ingratitude!" 

The  next  morning  Noll  gave  Dimny  the  addresses  of  a 
few  of  the  English  school-girls  who  had  been  traced  by  the 
C.  R.  B.,  and  with  these  Dimny  was  armed  to  storm  the 
citadel  of  von  Bissing. 

She  found  her  way,  after  asking  and  being  asked  many 

213 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

questions,  to  the  office  of  the  Governor-General,  and  joined 
the  throng  in  the  anteroom.  She  heard  the  voice  of  a 
furious  old  man  piercing  the  door  with  its  childish  treble, 
and  by  and  by  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  General  von 
Bissing  himself  appeared  there,  driving  out  a  confused  and 
stammering  wretch  in  uniform. 

The  officers  and  soldiers  in  attendance  leaped  to  their 
feet  and  clicked  their  heels  so  smartly  that  Dimny  au 
tomatically  imitated  them. 

The  sight  of  her  with  hand  to  brow  caught  von  Bissing 
and  melted  him  slightly.  He  stared,  bowed,  motioned 
her  to  enter,  while  he  finished  off  his  victim. 

Colonel  Klemm  had  wished  that  Dimny  should  see  him 
in  uniform,  hoping  that  the  glorious  sight  would  waken 
her  memory  of  him.  But  he  had  not  counted  on  her  seeing 
him  undergoing  an  official  spanking. 

He  recognized  her  as  she  passed  through  the  door,  and 
was  glad  that  she  did  not  recognize  him.  He  kept  bowing, 
saluting,  stammering,  till  von  Bissing  turned  his  back  on 
him.  Then  he  fled  while  the  Governor-General  slammed 
the  door  on  himself  and  Dimny. 

Von  Bissing  was  still  muttering.  He  justified  his  wrath 
by  tossing  on  the  table  in  front  of  Dimny's  eye  a  copy  of 
La  Libre  Belgique,  the  one  uncensored  journal  in  Belgium. 
Dimny  had  heard  a  little  of  its  surreptitious  publication,  in 
cellars,  garages,  and  other  brief  resting-places. 

The  Germans  had  sought  high  and  low  for  its  editors 
and  printers,  raiding,  offering  rewards,  and  setting  the 
whole  force  of  a  thousand  spies  upon  its  elusive  trail. 

But  somehow  it  kept  on  appearing,  and  so  ingenious 
were  its  publishers  that,  according  to  popular  tradition,  a 
copy  of  every  issue  was  promptly  placed  on  von  Bissing's 
desk.  Not  to  catch  the  publishers  was  bad  enough,  but 
to  find  the  paper  magically  smuggled  into  the  impervious 
headquarters  was  maddening. 

The  crowning  satire  of  this  issue  was  a  doctored  photo 
graph  of  von  Bissing  with  a  copy  of  the  paper  itself  in  his 
hand,  and  beneath  it  a  legend,  "Our  dear  Governor,  dis 
heartened  by  reading  the  lies  of  the  censored  journals, 
seeks  the  truth  in  La  Libre  Belgique" 

214 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

It  was  this  that  had  strangled  von  Bissing  with  fury 
at  his  inept  secret  police.  The  burden  of  his  ire  had  fallen 
on  Lieutenant-Colonel  Klemm,  who  was  instructed  to 
leave  the  publisher's  head  or  his  own  on  von  Bissing's  desk. 

The  Governor  proffered  Dimny  a  chair  and  announced 
himself  at  her  service.  She  spoke  with  a  double  timidity  of 
foreign  syntax  and  of  the  despot  whose  word  could  soothe 
or  break  so  many  hearts.  Remembering  how  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Klemm 's  face  had  darkened  at  her  appeal  for  the 
English  girls,  she  approached  the  subject  from  another 
angle,  as  she  had  rehearsed  it  in  her  room  at  the  Palace 
Hotel. 

"  I  come  to  ask  His  Excellency  to  do  a  great  kindness  to 
many  German  mothers,"  she  began  in  slow  French. 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows  in  polite  interest. 

She  went  on : 

"Excellenz,  on  my  way  from  America  I  had  to  pass 
through  England." 

Von  Bissing  saluted  the  hateful  word  with  a  grunt. 

"I  learned  that  there  are  numbers  of  young  German 
women  in  England  who  are  not  permitted  to  go  home. 
Their  mothers  do  not  even  know  if  they  are  alive  or  in 
prison  or  where." 

Von  Bissing  nodded  and  murmured  a  prayer  that  Gott 
would  strafe  England.  Dimny  continued: 

' '  It  seemed  to  me  such  a  pity  that  the  poor  young  girls 
should  be  left  in  a  hostile  country." 

"A  pity!  A  crime!"  said  von  Bissing.  "But  how  to 
get  them  home?"  He  had  walked  into  her  amiable  snare. 

She  drew  the  cord.  "I  learned  that  the  English  will 
send  them  back  on  one  condition — " 

"England  makes  conditions!"  he  sneered. 

"That  they  receive  in  exchange  an  equal  number  of 
English  girls  who  are  held  in  Belgium." 

Von  Bissing's  sly  soul  paid  her  the  tribute  of  a  foxy  smile. 

"Very  neatly  managed,  my  dear,"  he  laughed.  "You 
come  in  at  the  back  door.  You  wish  to  save  English  girls, 
but  you  approach  me  by  my  tender  side.  But  it  is  hard 
to  be  clever  without  being  too  clever.  I  could  have  you 
arrested  as  a  secret  agent  for  England." 

215 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Excellenz!"  she  gasped.  "What  harm  could  it  be  to 
Germany  to  exchange  a  few  girls  for  a  few  girls?" 

"What  harm?"  he  raged.  "Either  you  are  too  innocent 
to  be  abroad,  or  you  think  I  am.  Those  English  do  not 
want  these  girls  because  they  love  them.  What  do  their 
hard  hearts  know  of  die  Heiniat  and  of  die  Familienliebef 
No,  those  English  swine  want  those  girls  for  exhibition." 

"For  exhibition?" 

"Yes,  as  proof  of  the  atrocities  they  accuse  us  of.  They 
want  to  show  them  and  tell  the  world  what  beasts  we  are." 

Dimny  started  an  ironical,  "But  have  there  been  atroci 
ties?"  She  feared  to  tamper  with  his  wrath;  she  simply 
explained : 

"But  these  girls  are  all  unharmed." 

He  whirled  on  her  with  a  surprise  more  eloquent  than 
documents.  "Intact?  These  girls  are  unharmed?" 

"All  of  those  that  we  have  found.  They  have  been 
frightened,  of  course,  and  some  of  them  lost  their  clothes 
and  their  money  and  their  wits,  but  they  are  in  other 
convents  and  getting  along  well  enough." 

Von  Bissing  exulted  over  the  discovery.  He  was  grateful 
to  Dimny  for  bringing  him  specimens  of  a  sort  that  would 
redound  to  German  credit.  He  did  not  realize  the  true 
horror  of  the  implication.  A  few  girls  were  unharmed  and, 
as  he  said,  "intact"  and  they  made  an  important  exhibit 
in  the  defense  of  Germany  from  the  indictment  of  the 
world. 

Von  Bissing  put  the  brake  on  his  racing  delight  and  said : 
"Well,  perhaps  it  would  do  no  harm  to  send  these  girls 
back.  It  would  rid  Belgium  of  the  expense  of  feeding  them. 
I  will  grant  you  this  favor  since  you  ask  it  so  prettily  and 
since  it  means  the  rescue  of  certain  poor  German  girls. 
They  may  bring  back  a  little  useful  information,"  he 
chuckled,  then  caught  himself  again.  "How  many  girls 
are  there,  my  dear?" 

"I  have  here  the  names  of  only  half  a  dozen.  But  the 
others  are  being  searched  for  by  Oberstleutnant  Klemm." 

Von  Bissing  roared  the  name  in  angry  wonder. 

"Perhaps  that  was  what  diverted  the  cabbagehead  from 
chasing  the  publishers  of  the  Libre  Belgique." 

216 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Excellency?" 

"No  matter.  Well,  you  have  done  the  man  a  favor.  I 
will  spare  him  once  more  and  return  him  to  your  service. 
Since  he  has  been  in  attendance  upon  so  fair  a  lady  he  must 
be  forgiven  much." 

He  lifted  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  managed  to  keep 
from  shivering  visibly.  The  telephone-bell  rang.  He  grew 
brusque. 

"Run  along,  now,  my  child,  and  I  will  send  this  Klemm- 
schwein  to  you.  He  will  arrange  the  passports  and  the 
details  of  the  exchange.  Come  to  dinner  next  week  if  you 
can?  Au  refwar,  ma  tchere." 

Before  she  understood  that  she  was  dismissed  he  had 
hurried  her  across  the  room,  opened  the  door  for  her,  and 
bowed  and  smiled  her  out.  The  anteroom  populace  rose 
and  bowed.  They  interpreted  the  Governor-General's 
cordiality  according  to  their  own  characters. 

Dimny  opened  her  lips  to  speak  of  her  mother  and  her 
sister.  But  the  door  was  closed.  The  telephone  was  ringing 
impatiently.  Perhaps  God's  secretary  was  calling  him 
from  Berlin. 

She  stood  a  moment  with  tears  burning  her  eyes  because 
she  had  not  interceded  for  her  mother  and  her  sister.  Then 
she  remembered  how  harshly  von  Bissing  had  refused  to 
repatriate  the  English  school-girls  until  he  had  found  that 
they  could  be  safely  returned.  What  answer  would  be  given 
if  Dimny  asked  for  the  release  of  Alice  and  her  mother  in 
their  damned  and  damning  estate?  She  felt  that  she  had 
only  raised  up  a  new  foeman,  who  could  construct  obstacles 
by  magic. 

15 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ON  her  way  back  to  the  Palace  Hotel  an  officer  hove 
alongside    and    spoke:      "Goot    eftemoons,    Mees 
Parcot." 

The  familiar  voice  startled  her,  as  well  as  the  sound  of  her 
name  in  Brussels  streets.  She  stopped  short  and  looked  up. 
Then  moved  on. 

"You  don't  know  me,  I  guess.  I  am  Oberstleutnant 
Klemm." 

She  greeted  him  now  with  cordiality,  for  she  wanted  to 
see  him.  "Oh,  how  do  you  do!  I  didn't  know  you  in  all 
that  get-up." 

He  was  puzzled.  Believing  her  Alice,  he  said:  "But 
it  was  so  you  see  me  de  feerst  time." 

She  understood  that  he  was  recurring  to  his  memory  of 
Alice  and  she  did  not  want  to  undeceive  him  yet. 

"Oh  yes,  of  course,"  she  faltered. 

That  satisfied  him  for  the  moment.  He  marched  along 
side,  and  she  explained  how  he  had  got  into  von  Bissing's 
bad  books  and  how  she  had  got  him  out.  His  heart  was 
genuinely  warming  toward  her  now.  She  had  proved  her 
self  useful.  From  being  a  helpless  victim  who  had  only 
her  prettiness  and  her  mystery  to  commend  her  she  had 
become  a  potent  go-between  who  could  deal  out  the 
favors  of  the  Oberst-General. 

Klemm  still  believed  her  a  spy,  but  perhaps  she  was  one 
of  those  convenient  two-handled  spies  who  work  for  both 
sides.  She  might  be  persuaded  to  come  over  into  the 
German  camp  and  accept  a  commission.  In  any  case,  for 
the  immediate  present  he  had  been  detailed  to  act  as  her 
adjutant.  The  billet  would  be  ever  so  much  pleasanter  than 
nosing  after  the  slippery  publishers  of  La  Libre  Belgique. 

218 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

When  they  were  seated  in  one  of  the  lounging-rooms  of 
the  Palace  Hotel,  he  took  from  his  pocket  the  names  of 
the  English  girls.  He  had  found  in  his  researches  the 
names  of  many  more  than  she  had  brought — all  scattered 
through  twenty  towns  and  villages. 

He  explained  the  steps  that  must  be  taken  for  the  securing 
of  passports,  the  photographing  of  each  girl  so  that  her 
portrait  might  adorn  her  passport;  the  delivery  of  the 
girls  across  the  frontier  into  Holland,  and  the  reception 
of  their  equivalent  in  German  maidenhood.  He  promised 
to  take  all  of  that  work  off  her  hands. 

She  was  almost  irresistibly  moved  to  put  away  her 
resentments  and  tell  him  frankly  who  she  was  and  why 
she  was  there,  and  to  plead  for  his  help  in  finding  her 
mother  and  sister.  But  she  feared  that  the  moment  she 
told  the  truth  she  might  lose  her  hold  on  him.  He  might 
oppose  difficulties,  deny  her  request,  spirit  her  mother  and 
sister  away.  She  had  learned  enough  of  ruthlessness  by 
now  to  believe  it  capable  of  anything  unmerciful. 

She  had  seen  how  fierce  von  Bissing  grew  at  the  sus 
picion  of  an  appeal  to  his  tenderness;  how  little  it  meant 
to  him  that  either  German  or  English  mothers  or  daughters 
should  pine  in  exile;  how  greedy  he  was  to  use  them  as  a 
countercheck  to  English  propaganda — as  greedy  as  he 
would  be  to  hurl  German  men  or  women  to  death  as  a 
countercheck  to  English  commercial  prosperity.  She  saw 
all  this  and  she  understood  that  she  dealt  with  a  machine 
and  not  with  a  human  government.  She  dreaded  the  least 
misstep. 

She  was  terrified  as  she  had  once  been  when  her  father 
took  her  through  a  huge  factory  and  she  saw  everywhere 
belts  running  snakily  to  seize  her  by  the  hair  and  draw 
her  into  the  cogs,  claws  clutching  at  her  skirts,  hammers 
calling  to  her  to  be  crushed,  malice  and  torture  everywhere 
and  nothing  to  appeal  to  in  the  noise  and  hurry.  The 
engineer  who  could  stop  it  all  was  hidden  somewhere, 
inaccessible. 

She  was  a  girl.  She  had  succeeded  thus  far  because  she 
was  a  girl.  She  was  groping  her  way  through  a  wilderness 
of  manifest  perils  and  of  perils  only  dimly  understood. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

One  misstep,  one  unhappy  word,  and  she  was  lost,  and  her 
mother  and  sister  with  her. 

Her  one  prescribed  course  was  to  discount  and  distrust 
everything  Klemm  seemed  to  feel  or  mean.  The  one  secret 
she  had  she  meant  to  keep  from  him. 

Whether  she  reasoned  well  or  not,  that  was  her  reasoning. 
She  gave  all  her  heart  to  the  task  of  restoring  the  English 
girls. 

Though  she  could  not  trust  Klemm  with  her  perfect 
confidence,  she  could  not  deny  him  a  certain  cordiality 
as  the  bearer  of  good  news,  the  instrument  of  good 
works. 

They  were  getting  along  famously  well  with  their  plans 
when  Noll  came  upon  the  scene.  He  saw  them  before 
they  saw  him.  He  saw  a  German  officer  talking  rapidly 
and  gaily  to  his  Dimny,  and  her  listening  with  laughter  in 
her  eyes  and  friendship  in  her  smile. 

As  Dimny  laughed  she  glanced  past  his  shoulder  and 
saw  Noll,  darkening  into  an  Othello  with  jealousy. 

Dimny  was  flattered  by  that  anger  of  his,  but  she  was 
too  solemn  a  little  body  nowadays  to  take  pleasure  in 
tormenting  even  a  lover.  Her  laugh  died  in  a  gasp,  and 
Klemm,  noting  the  change,  followed  the  line  of  her  gaze 
and,  turning,  saw  Noll  Winsor  in  the  offing. 

Klemm  recognized  him  at  once  as  the  courier  of  the 
C.  R.  B.  and  remembered  at  once  his  imprudence  at 
Esschen.  He  was  furious  at  him  for  two  reasons,  his 
past  dereliction  and  his  present  intrusion. 

Dimny  dreaded  a  clash  now.  In  her  alarm  she  mumbled, 
"You  two  have  met,  haven't  you?" 

Both  nodded  in  grim  silence.  Dimny  tried  to  kindle  a 
little  conversation. 

''Colonel  Klemm  was  just  telling  me,"  she  said,  "how 
he  besieged  a  convent  and  how  he  threw  the  old  Mother 
Superior  into  a  state  of  nerves."  She  laughed  encourag 
ingly,  but  Noll  growled: 

"  Jedes  Tierchen  hat  sein  Plaisirchen." 

Klemm  drew  himself  up  in  amazed  wrath,  but  Dimny 
said: 

"And  what  might  that  mean?" 

220 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Every  little  beast  has  his  little  feast,  his  little  pet 
amusement,  you  might  say!" 

Klemm  was  breathing  hard  at  the  insult,  but  Dimny 
drifted  between  the  two  men,  groping  for  words  and 
finding  only: 

'Where  on  earth  did  you  hear  such  a  thing?" 
'Oh,  my  mother  used  to  say  it!" 
'Your  mother?" 

'Yes.     She  was  German,  you  know." 
'No,    I    didn't   know."     Dimny   sighed   with    all   the 
tragedy  of    a   Juliet   learning   that   her    Romeo  was   a" 
Montague. 

But  Klemm  was  startled  out  of  his  wrath  by  the  sur 
prise  of  Noll's  admission.  He  turned  to  Noll  with  a  flood 
of  questions  in  German  which  Noll  answered  fluently,  but 
angrily. 

Klemm  complimented  him  on  his  idioms.  They  were 
old-fashioned,  he  saw,  and  spoken  with  a  ghastly  American 
accent,  but  they  were  not  the  phrases  a  foreigner  learns 
by  rote  from  a  text-book. 

A  new  idea  was  fermenting  suddenly  in  Klemm's  brain. 
Perhaps  he  could  use  Noll  to  advantage,  to  the  advantage 
of  himself  as  well  as  of  the  Fatherland. 

Klemm  made  an  excuse  of  continuing  Miss  Parcot's 
business,  and  left.  When  they  were  alone,  Noll  found  that 
a  faint  change  had  come  upon  the  spirit  of  Dimny's  manner 
toward  him.  It  was  indefinable,  like  a  little  shapeless 
mist  that  could  not  be  seized,  nor  yet  ignored.  He  said  at 
last: 

"Does  it  make  a  difference  to  you  that  I  am  part 
German?" 

"Oh  no — oh  no!"  she  sighed,  with  a  reluctance  that 
meant,  "Oh  yes — oh  yes!"  She  added,  "You  couldn't 
help  that,  could  you?" 

He  laughed  bitterly.  "No.  When  I  learned  about  it, 
it  was  too  late  to  change."  He  felt  a  kind  of  disloyalty 
to  his  mother  in  the  flippancy  of  his  manner,  but  he  could 
not  lift  himself  by  his  own  boot-straps  to  the  height  of 
defending  that  side  of  his  heritage.  He  managed  to  say: 

"  It  doesn't  make  much  difference  what  a  man's  blood  is; 

221 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

it's  his  heart  that  counts.  The  Kaiser  is  half  English, 
you  know,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  help  him  much. 

"My  grandfather  fought  in  the  Union  army  and  there 
were  plenty  of  Germans  in  the  Revolutionary  War.  There 
was  old  Muhlenberg,  for  one,  the  preacher  who  wore  his 
uniform  into  the  pulpit  and  led  a  regiment  away." 

"But  he  was  fighting  the  English,"  Dimny  put  in,  re 
gretting  her  helpless  alienation  from  Noll. 

"No,  he  was  fighting  the  German  King  of  England. 
George  was  a  Hanoverian,  you  know,  and  a  rotten  tyrant." 

"Still,  it  was  different,"  she  murmured. 

"Of  course  it  was,"  he  cried,  "but  there  were  plenty  of 
Englishmen  in  America  then  who  fought  against  England 
in  seventy-six  and  there'll  be  thousands  of  Germans  in 
America  who  will  fight  against  the  Kaiser  in  nineteen — 
whenever  this  war  reaches  us — or  the  next  one — for  the 
Kaiser  and  Uncle  Sam  have  got  to  fight  it  out  sooner  or 
later,  and  the  sooner  we  begin  to  ctmmence  the  sooner 
it's  over." 

Dimny  stared  at  him  with  amazement.  "You  really 
want  to  see  the  Kaiser  whipped?" 

"Of  course!  I  want  to  see  him  on  Elba  or  St.  Helena. 
I'm  ashamed  to  live  in  a  world  that  lets  a  divine  monarch 
strut  around.  If  his  own  people  don't  chuck  him  over 
board,  then  we've  got  to  help." 

"Do  you  think  there's  any  hope  of  his  own  people?" 

"Not  much.  They've  been  caught  too  young.  They've 
been  poisoned  from  the  cradle.  They've  been  brought 
up  to  speak  of  the  crown  with  such  reverence  that  they 
believe  it.  They'd  blush  with  shame  to  be  caught  in  a 
tese-majestf. 

"  I  remember  my  cousin  who  came  over  from  Germany 
to  visit  us.  He  was  a  very  decent  young  cub — Duhr,  his 
name  was,  Nazi  Duhr — good  sense  of  humor  and  plenty  of 
brains  till  we  spoke  a  little  flippantly  of  his  Kaiser,  and 
then  he  was  like  an  insulted  priest. 

"By  the  way,  he  might  be  of  help.  If  your  mother  and 
sister  are  interned  in  Germany,  he  could  help  us  to  find 
them.  I  promised  my  mother  I  would  go  to  Germany  and 
see  her  sister.  I  sent  her  some  money  when  she  wrote 

222 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

that  she  was  hungry.  They'd  feel  under  obligations.  It 
would  be  a  good  excuse  for  me  to  get  a  passport.  And, 
once  inside  the  lines,  I  could  travel  about  all  right.  There 
are  any  number  of  Americans  in  Germany.  Ambassador 
Gerard  is  there.  He  could  help.  Why  haven't  I  thought 
of  it  ?  Germany  is  the  place  to  go.  You  could  come  along. 
I  could  call  you  my  cousin — or  something." 

Noll  was  aglow  with  enthusiasm,  but  Dimny  was  not 
catching  fire.  She  had  not  recovered  yet  from  the  shock 
of  learning  that  Noll  was  in  part  a  German,  and  had 
relatives  in  Germany,  and  was  going  to  make  an  ally  of  a 
certain  German  officer.  She  could  not  glow  at  this.  She 
said: 

"What  regiment  does  your  cousin  belong  to?" 

"I  don't  know  the  number,"  Noll  said,  "but  it  was  one 
of  the  Thuringians." 

Dimny  nearly  screamed  aloud  at  that  word.  It  had 
haunted  her  for  months.  It  was  the  only  name  in  her 
sister's  letter.  She  did  not  know  that  Noll  had  wakened 
her  once  with  it  from  her  sleep  in  Carthage  to  a  delirium 
that  she  had  never  recalled. 

She  bade  Noll  a  curt  good-by  and  started  for  her  room. 

And  Noll,  staring  after  her,  suffered  a  new  wound.  He 
was  beginning  to  pay  a  penalty  for  the  sins,  not  only  of  his 
ancestors,  but  of  collateral  descendants  as  well. 

As  Noll  was  about  to  leave  the  hotel,  he  carried  such 
freight  of  sympathy  for  Dimny  that  he  did  not  see  Colonel 
Klemm  beckoning  to  him,  nor  hear  his  voice,  till  Klemm 
hastened  to  catch  him  by  the  elbow  and  murmur  a  "Bitte, 
mein  Herri  Auf  ein  Wort." 

Noll  looked  at  him  with  a  startled  and  surly,  "Well?" 

Klemm's  face  was  wreathed  with  smiles  in  spite  of  the 
rebuff.  He  pleaded: 

"  Haben  Sie  Lust  spazieren  zu  gehen?" 

"Take  a  walk?  With  you?  Why?"  Noll  answered, 
bluntly. 

Klemm  begged  him  to  speak  German  and  to  be  assured 
that  what  was  to  be  said  was  for  Noll's  own  good.  Noll 
felt  that  there  was  something  in  the  wind  and  curiosity 
overbore  his  antipathy.  He  consented  to  walk  with 

223 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Klemm,  who  explained  that  he  spoke  in  strict  confidence 
and  that  the  best  place  to  discuss  a  secret  matter  was  in 
the  open. 

Noll  went  along  uneasily.  Klemm  linked  arms  with 
him,  keeping  his  right  hand  free  to  return  the  incessant 
salutes  of  the  passing  soldiers.  Noll  shared  this  glory,  such 
as  it  was. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

NOLL  WINSOR  was  neither  reassured  nor  flattered, 
but  altogether  dazed  to  find  himself  strolling  arm  in 
arm  with  a  uniformed  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  German 
host.  Klemni  led  him  about  the  Place  Charles  Rogier  in 
the  roped-off  spaces  where  Brussels'  citizens  were  now 
forbidden  to  promenade.  After  some  laboriously  casual 
small  talk,  Klemm  began  to  discuss  America. 

He  spoke  of  it  with  envy  as  the  land  of  ease  and  of  easy 
wealth,  of  abundant  food  and  comfortable  hotels,  a  paradise 
nowadays  while  Europe  was  a  hell.  He  thought  it  strange 
that  Herr  Vinsor  should  have  left  so  comfortable  a  place 
without  compulsion.  He  must  be  very  rich  and  in  search 
of  new  sensations. 

Noll  protested  that  he  was  not  rich,  but  poor;  and  that 
he  did  not  like  the  sensations  he  was  getting.  Klemm 
regretted  that  Belgium  had  to  be  invaded,  but  it  was  war 
times,  and  "necessity  breaks  iron." 

He  asked  Noll  how  his  sympathies  were,  and  Noll,  re 
membering  his  promises  not  to  offend  the  conquerors, 
answered  diplomatically. 

Klemm  spoke  of  England's  tyranny  and  the  way  that 
Germany  was  hampered  in  her  development.  He  recurred 
to  America,  and  said  that  he  had  been  hoping  for  an 
assignment  thither  on  diplomatic  business  and  for  the  en 
couragement  of  the  great  German  element. 

He  raged  against  the  English  propaganda  and  pleaded 
that  it  was  perfectly  proper  for  Germany  to  fight  England 
in  America  or  anywhere ;  to  destroy  bridges  and  munitions- 
factories,  scatter  false  rumors,  threaten  Congressmen  with 
political  raids,  and  encourage  pacifism.  He  laughed  at  the 
cleverness  that  the  Germans,  of  all  people,  showed  in  sub 
sidizing  the  anti-militarism  movement  in  the  United  States 

225 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  scattering  slanders  against  the  motives  of  those  who 
advocated  preparedness. 

This  was  strong  meat  for  Noll  to  stomach,  but  he  kept  his 
temper,  for  he  saw  that  Klemm  had  an  ulterior  purpose. 
He  brought  Klemm  up  at  length  with  a  sudden,  "Wnat's 
the  short  idea  in  this  long  lecture?"  ("Was  ist  der  langen 
Rede  kurzer  Sinn?") 

Klemm  hesitated,  then  asked  Noll  to  tell  him  freely  how 
he  felt  toward  the  Fatherland.  Noll  stressed  his  German 
affiliations  and  his  earlier  feelings,  and  neglected  to  mention 
his  rapid  conversion  to  anti-Teutonism.  He  remembered 
the  Biblical  injunction  to  speak  to  a  fool  according  to  his 
folly,  and  revised  it  to  read,  "Speak  to  a  spy  according  to 
his  duplicity." 

It  rather  amused  Noll  to  pretend  to  be  caught  on  Klemm 's 
hook.  He  resisted  just  enough  to  make  it  interesting. 

Klemm  was  convinced  that  Noll  was  fallow  for  the  seeds 
of  conversion  and  began  to  scatter  hints  that  Germany 
needed  the  help  of  her  sons  across  the  sea,  and  of  all  those 
who  had  the  sacred  blood  of  Teutonism  in  their  arteries. 
There  was  a  great  work  for  Noll  to  do  if  he  were  ready 
for  it. 

Noll's  heart  knocked  against  his  ribs.  He  had  not  fore 
seen  this.  "I  don't  quite  understand,"  he  faltered. 

"  Deutschland  needs  you.  Deutschtum  needs  you.  Kultur 
needs  you  more  there  than  here.  You  can  do  more 
good  for  the  cause  of  civilization  in  America  than  in  Bel 
gium.  Let  these  pro-British  Yankees  feed  the  Belgian 
swine.  You  should  go  back  home  and  work  for  the  true 
good  of  your  country.  Plenty  of  Americans  work  for  us. 
I  could  show  you  the  receipts  of  some  of  them — their  names 
would  surprise  you.  America  is  as  full  of  German  agents 
as  an  old  dog  is  full  of  fleas!  They  are  well  paid,  too." 

Noll's  voice  stuck  like  a  bone  in  his  throat.  He  coughed 
to  dislodge  it.  "  How  much — how  much  would  I  be  worth 
to  the  Kaiser?" 

"That  depends,  of  course,  on  what  you  accomplish.  For 
small  jobs,  small  pay;  for  big  jobs,  big.  If  you  put  a 
little  article  in  a  paper,  that  is  something.  If  you  blow  up 
a  munitions-factory,  that  is  much.  We  have  secret- 

226 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

service  men  there.  We  need  some  one  to  guard  the  guards. 
We  need  decoys.  It  is  safe,  it  is  comfortable,  it  is  profit 
able." 

"There's  a  But  to  that."    ("Es  ist  ein  Aber  dabei") 

"Let  us  discuss  the  Wenns  und  Abers." 

He  was  already  gloating  over  Noll  as  a  captured,  cor 
rupted  victim.  Noll  felt  such  a  loathing  of  him  that  he 
could  not  control  himself.  A  few  words  more  and  he  would 
have  to  throttle  the  scoundrel.  If  Klemm  did  not  take  his 
arm  from  Noll's  elbow  Noll  would  have  to  knock  him  down 
and  beat  him  up.  He  made  haste  to  escape  before  his 
temper  mastered  him. 

"I'd  like  a  chance  to  think  it  over." 

"I  understand,  my  dear  Herr  Vinsor."  Klemm  patted 
Noll's  shoulder  so  benignly  that  Noll  had  to  put  his  fist 
in  his  pocket  to  keep  it  out  of  Klemm 's  face. 

He  turned  to  leave  at  once,  but  a  sudden  thought  arrested 
him.  He  spoke  of  his  mother's  sister  and  her  son  and  of 
his  desire  to  know  where  Nazi  Duhr  might  be. 

"You  shall  know  at  once,"  Klemm  promised.  "I  will 
give  you  a  peep  at  the  efficiency  of  the  German  system. 
Give  me  his  name  and  home  and  I — as  you  dear  Americans 
say — I  will  do  the  rest." 

Noll  gave  him  what  information  he  had  and  Klemm 
promised  him  a  dazzlingly  quick  reply.  They  parted  forth 
with.  As  Noll  hurried  along  the  street  he  saw  that  the  eyes 
of  the  Belgians  were  reproachful.  They  were  the  eyes  of 
hounds  that  have  been  tricked  and  beaten.  He  shuddered 
with  hatred  of  the  r61e  he  had  assumed. 

The  next  morning  he  found  a  note  from  Klemm  under 
his  door.  It  informed  him  that  Leutenant  Nazi  Duhr  was 
with  the  First  Thuringian  Regiment  temporarily  sta 
tioned  at  Louvain. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ON  that  very  day  Dimny's  sister  and  mother  were  talk 
ing  of  her  in  Louvain.  There  was  no  weird  coincidence 
in  that,  for  they  were  almost  always  talking  of  her. 

They  wondered  where  she  was  and  how  she  was,  and  if  she 
had  ever  received  their  letter,  and  whether  they  ought  to 
have  written  it,  and  whether  they  ought  not  to  write 
another  and  tell  her  not  to  worry  about  them  since  they 
were  at  peace. 

And  they  were  at  peace — of  a  sort,  for  they  had  grown 
used  to  their  fate,  resigned  to  their  condition,  and  that  is 
about  all  there  is  to  peace. 

As  dusk  drew  on  they  put  away  their  sewing  and  went 
out  for  their  daily  walk.  They  preferred  not  to  go  abroad 
in  the  full  light.  They  had  the  American  woman's  timidity 
of  their  estate,  and  with  better  reason  than  usual,  for  they 
had  no  husbands  to  walk  with  them  and  take  pride  in  their 
promise. 

They  left  the  wooden  shed  that  had  been  hastily  built 
among  the  ruins  of  the  Tudesq  home  and  moved  up  the 
Rue  des  Joyeuses  Entries  which  becomes  the  Rue  Vander- 
helen,  past  the  Place  du  Peuple,  and  among  obscure  rubble 
that  had  been  homes. 

The  city  authorities  had  busied  themselves  trying  to 
restore  the  town.  The  streets  had  been  cleaned  of  ruins 
and  sidewalks  opened  through  the  avalanches  of  scorched 
stone  and  brick. 

They  turned  into  the  Rue  de  la  Station,  one  long  eyesore 
of  devastation.  They  did  not  visit  the  gutted  walls  of  the 
Library,  but  walked  mournfully,  as  through  a  cemetery, 
down  the  once  busy  avenue  leading  to  the  Station  Square 
where  the  statue  of  van  der  Weyers,  one  of  the  builders  of 
Belgian  independence,  surveyed  the  broken  shards  that 
remained  of  his  proud  city.  The  dead  bodies  had  been 

228 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

carried  off  long  since,  and  rain  and  snow  had  cleansed  away 
the  stains,  but  had  brought  new  suffering  to  the  living. 

Alice  and  her  mother  turned  down  the  shattered  Boule 
vard  de  Tirlemont,  which  would  lead  them  back  to  the 
Rue  des  Joyeuses  Entrees.  Much  murder  had  been  done 
along  this  road  and  a  cataract  of  fugitives  had  gone  tumbling 
and  eddying  down  it  to  the  Tirlemont  Gate  and  out  along 
the  doleful  plains. 

As  Alice  and  her  mother  trudged  slowly  a  line  of  soldiers 
marching  in  from  Liege  passed  them.  They  were  used  to 
soldiers.  They  came  in  from  the  east  gay  and  brisk,  with 
bands  playing  and  uniforms  fresh,  for  they  were  on  their 
way  to  battle.  They  came  in  from  the  west  slow  and  limp 
ing  and  shabby,  without  music,  after  the  battle. 

Sometimes  the  men  in  the  ranks  shouted  ridicule  at  the 
two  women,  but  they  paid  no  heed.  And  so  when  now  they 
heard  a  voice  crying  out  at  them  they  did  not  even  look. 

They  hardly  realized  that  a  voice  had  risen  from  the  dull 
surf  of  marching  feet  till  a  young  officer  darted  from  the 
ranks  and  ran  to  them.  He  seized  Alice  by  the  arm  and 
stared  into  her  face. 

She  recoiled  and  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  He  spoke 
to  her  excitedly  in  German,  but  she  did  not  understand  a 
word  he  said. 

Then  there  came  an  angry  yell  from  the  passing  column, 
and  it  dragged  him  back  into  the  line  as  if  with  a  lasso. 

He  cried  back  at  her,  "  Auf  wiedersehen!"  and  she  lost 
sight  of  him  as  he  ran  along  the  flank,  seeking  his  place. 

Alice  and  her  mother  stood  wondering.  Neither  of  them 
recalled  the  young  man.  They  spoke  of  him  with  be 
wilderment,  then  gave  him  up  as  a  riddle  without  answer. 

The  next  day  they  avoided  the  Boulevard  de  Tirlemont 
and  sauntered,  as  one  saunters  a  sadly  cherished  graveyard, 
through  the  old  market-place. 

There  Alice  was  again  accosted  by  the  same  young 
officer.  He  spoke  to  her  again  in  German,  but  she  shook 
her  head  and  moved  on.  He  followed  and  kept  at  her  elbow. 

There  was  nobody  to  appeal  to  for  protection,  since  the 
Louvainese  had  learned  too  well  not  to  resist,  and  the 
soldiers  they  passed  would  not  have  come  to  their  aid. 

229 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

At  length  the  young  man  essayed  English.  "You  have 
by  Dofnay  been,  yes?" 

The  shock  of  fright  the  word  sent  through  Alice  was 
answer  enough  to  that. 

"Ich  auch — me  besides,  I  was  there.  I  did  seen  you 
there.  I  did  came  to  Kloster — to  convent — not  alone,  but — 
You  are  remembering  of  me  now,  yes?" 

Alice  trembled  as  if  she  were  freezing  in  a  sleet  of  icy 
memories.  He  could  not  tell  whether  her  head  shook 
in  denial  or  only  in  the  ague  of  torment. 

"I  did  hope  you  should  remembered  me,  for  I  cannot 
forget  of  you.  I  was  very  bad  against  you,  but  after  when 
I  am  in  battles  I  beg  Gott  to  make  me  dead.  At  last  His 
good  bullet  finds  me,  but  I  do  not  died.  They  send  me  to 
my  home  to  die.  I  live  yet.  But  I  have  sisters,  two,  and 
I  think  always  where  are  you.  My  body  gets  sound  al 
ready,  but  meine  Seele — meine  soul  is  sick.  I  pray  Gott 
He  brings  me  to  you  and  so  now  He  does.  For  few  days 
I  going  rest  by  Loewen  here.  I  shall  to  see  you.  Now 
you  are  remembering  me — Leutnant  Duhr  my  name  is — 
Ignatius  Duhr — Nazi.  I  did  telled  you  my  name  ven  you 
are  in  my  arms.  Now  you  are  remembering,  yes?  No? 
In  Gottes  Namen,  don't  say  no!" 

"No!"  she  groaned.  She  cried  it  aloud  again,  "No!" 
and  again,  "No!" 

And  it  seemed  that  fate  had  invented  a  pluperfect  tor 
ture  in  recalling  from  oblivion  this  haggard  youth  and 
bringing  with  him  no  memory  to  re-establish  him  even 
among  her  loathings.  And  he  was  weak  from  his  old 
wound,  and  his  eyes  were  the  windows  of  a  haunted  house. 
The  furies  of  remorse  were  about  him  and  he  had  fled  to 
her  in  pity  and  shelter.  And  she  could  not  even  deny  the 
claim  he  made  upon  her.  She  did  not  remember  him  at 
all.  And  if  she  could  have  remembered  him — what  then? 

She  moved  slowly  away  from  him.  He  did  not  seize 
hold  of  her,  but  followed  at  a  distance  like  a  lonely  hound. 
When  he  saw  where  she  and  her  mother  lived,  he  stared 
a  long  while,  then  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  house 
where  he  was  billeted. 


My  name  is  Ignatius  Duhr — Nazi.    I  did  telled  you  my 
name  ven  you  are  in  my  arms.     Now    you  are  re 
membering,  yes?"    "No!"  she  groaned.    She  cried  it  aloud 
again,  "No!"  and  again,  "No!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

,  rejoicing  in  the  capture  of  Noll,  made  haste 
with  his  business  of  getting  rid  of  the  English  girls. 
He  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Noll,  too,  and  to  use  him  at  the 
same  time.  That  would  be,  as  the  Germans  say,  "to  swat 
two  flies  with  one  slap." 

Klemm  knew  Dimny  already  well  enough  to  realize  that 
he  could  make  her  no  gift  that  would  so  enhance  him  in  her 
eyes  as  the  privilege  of  being  the  bearer  of  a  flag  of  rescue 
to  the  beleaguered  daughters  of  England,  of  bringing  the 
relief  to  Lucknow  in  person.  He  offered  to  take  her  in  his 
motor,  but  she  was  not  yet  steeled  to  such  excursions,  and, 
seeing  her  embarrassment,  he  had  a  happy  thought. 

"Perhaps  you  like  better  to  go  by  Herr  Vinsor's  car." 

"  Oh  yes !"  Dimny  cried.     ' '  That  is— if  you  don't  mind." 

"  I  am  most  happy  to  do  such  a  nize  youngk  man  a  favor. 
Gluckliche  Reise!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"I  vish  you  a  gladly  chourney." 

"Oh,  thank  you!" 

He  provided  the  passes,  and  nothing  could  have  been 
more  benevolent  than  his  gracious  God-speed. 

The  first  convent  they  were  to  visit  lay  to  the  northwest 
of  Brussels,  just  beyond  Termonde.  Here  they  were 
plunged  again  into  tha  hideous  path  of  the  Iron  Broom. 

Noll  drove  his  car  past  gutted  buildings  standing  like 
huge  fragments  of  empty  nutshells,  and  on  out  to  the 
Convent  of  the  Ladies  of  St.  Elisabeth,  which  had  been 
overlooked  somehow  in  the  broom-work. 

Dimny  rang  the  bell  at  a  little  door.  A  lay  sister 
looked  out  from  above  in  terror.  She  had  reason  for 
terror.  She  had  been  one  of  a  group  of  five  women  and 
girls  whom  the  German  troops  had  driven  ahead  of  them 

231 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

as  a  screen  against  the  Belgian  fire.  She  motioned  Dimny 
to  another  door.  The  porteress  admitted  her  and  left  her 
in  a  cell  of  a  reception-room  while  she  fetched  the  Sister 
Superior. 

Sceur  Jeanne  was  a  matronly  little  body  despite  her  habit 
of  a  rtligieuse,  and  sharp  eyes  snapped  behind  her  spectacles. 
She  was  used  to  managing  her  little  walled  city  with 
authority  and  she  had  faced  a  German  brute  with  calm, 
but  when  Dimny  explained  what  she  had  come  to  do, 
Sosur  Jeanne  went  into  a  flutter. 

The  thought  of  taking  her  girls  out  into  the  world  again 
gave  her  the  emotions  of  an  old-maid  hen  who  has  raised 
a  little  gang  of  ducklings  only  to  see  them  decoyed  toward 
a  wide  and  fatal  pond. 

Dimny  pacified  her  by  describing  the  sufferings  of  the 
mothers  in  England.  Melted  at  last,  Soeur  Jeanne  con 
sented  to  let  Dimny  place  the  matter  before  the  girls 
themselves. 

She  led  Dimny  down  a  long,  whitewashed  tunnel  across 
a  snow-invested  frozen  garden  into  a  room  where  a  little 
throng  was  studying  under  the  care  of  various  pallid  nuns. 
In  this  white,  white  refuge  girls  studied  and  nuns  taught 
as  people  had  done  in  the  ancient  Belgium  of  a  few  months 
back.  Even  the  rumor  of  battle  had  apparently  not  reached 
this  war-proof  island. 

The  demure  inhabitants  rolled  their  eyes  as  pupils  do 
when  a  visitor  comes  to  school,  but  they  made  no  stir. 
As  the  Sister  Superior  explained  that  Miss  Parcot  was 
from  America  there  was  a  vibration  of  interest.  Dimny 
made  a  little  recitation  as  timidly  as  if  it  were  her  first 
appearance  on  a  platform. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  began.  She  could  tell 
by  the  puzzled  brows  of  the  majority  that  her  words  were 
foreign  to  nearly  all  of  the  girls,  but  a  few  perked  greedy 
ears  at  the  beloved  language. 

"You  see,  when  I  was  in  England,  I  met  a  mother  who 
asked  me  to  try  to  get  her  daughter  and  other  mothers' 
daughters  back." 

Two  or  three  girls  who  withstood  "England"  could  not 
stand  the  word  "mother."  They  broke  into  sobs.  The 

232 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Other  girls  tried  to  comfort  them.  There  was  a  little  panic 
which  Dimny  stampeded  completely  by  calling  out : 

"I  have  brought  permission  to  send  you  home." 

That  last  word  shattered  the  courage  of  all  of  them. 
Six  English  girls  leaped  to  their  feet,  gasping  with  unbelief. 
They  crowded  forward,  while  Dimny  explained  as  best  she 
could,  answering  all  questions  and  none. 

One  girl  flung  her  arms  about  Dimny  and  wept  gorgeously, 
filling  Dimny's  narrow  bosom  with  the  most  maternal 
emotions — Soeur  Jeanne's  also.  Though  she  stood  frowning 
at  the  scene,  she  was  trying  to  scare  back  the  tears  sliding 
across  her  cheeks  as  if  her  eyes  were  telling  the  beads  of 
mercy. 

Dimny  explained  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  have  the 
photograph  of  each  girl  taken  for  her  passport.  Sceur 
Jeanne  thought  this  an  unnecessary  vanity,  but  Dimny 
had  only  to  say,  "von  Hissing's  orders,"  to  convince  her. 
She  promised  that  by  the  morrow  all  the  papers  would  be 
complete,  and  the  hand-baggage  ready,  so  that  they  could 
be  whisked  across  the  frontier  before  the  Germans  could 
change  their  minds. 

When  Dimny  rejoined  Noll  she  felt  like  a  successful  angel 
out  paying  afternoon  calls.  On  the  flight  back  to  Brussels 
she  told  Noll  that  he  should  have  the  privilege  of  taking  the 
first  load  of  girls  into  Holland. 

He  had  to  make  the  trip  with  the  mail,  in  any  case. 
So  the  next  morning  early,  Noll  ran  out  to  Termonde  and 
took  aboard  his  cargo.  There  was  some  delay  in  packing 
both  girls  and  baggage  in  the  available  space,  but  he  re 
turned  to  Brussels  without  losing  any  of  either. 

Dimny  was  at  the  office  of  the  C.  R.  B.  when  he  stopped 
there  for  the  mail-pouch.  When  she  saw  him  among  his 
bevy  of  chattering  magpies,  she  said,  with  laughter: 

"I'm  showing  an  awful  lot  of  confidence  in  you  to  trust 
you  with  so  many  pretty  girls." 

He  gave  such  a  start  at  this  that  she  realized  how  much 
more  her  words  implied  than  she  had  meant.  Then  she 
blushed  in  her  turn,  and  when  at  length  he  drove  away, 
though  he  gave  her  a  farewell  look  like  a  vow  of  loyalty,  she 
felt  a  strange  pang  of  uneasiness. 

16  233 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Skelton  brought  her  back  to  Brussels  at  once  when  he 
said: 

'  I  hope  to  God  he  gets  through  with  all  those  kids." 
'There  isn't  any  danger,  is  there?" 
'Danger?    Who's  safe  under  the  German  flag?" 
'But  they  have  passports  and  everything." 
'Yes,  and  so  did  the  English  nurses  we  tried  to  get  back 
to  England  from  Mons.    They  were  captured  there,  taking 
care  of  wounded  British  soldiers.    We  got  permission  and 
passports  to  ship  them  home,  but  our  courier  couldn't 
protect  them  from  vile  language.     The  Germans  arrested 
him,  too,  and  threw  the  nurses  into  cells  with  the  lowest 
criminals.    We  protested  and  got  them  out  finally,  but  the 
adjutant  shook  his  fist  in  the  face  of  one  of  the  nurses,  and 
threatened  them  all  with  everything  he  could  think  of. 
They  kept  one  nurse  in  a  cell  for  weeks.    Those  poor  school 
girls  would  be  mighty  fascinating  for  some  of  these  field- 
gray  hyenas." 

NollVpassengers  were  as  loquacious  as  a  cage  of  parrots. 
He  could  not  frighten  them  quiet,  but  luck  was  with  them 
until  they  passed  in  good  season  the  frontier  at  Esschen  and 
came  under  the  sway  of  Holland's  red,  white  and  blue 
banner. 

As  Noll  left  behind  the  prison  province  of  Belgium  he 
remembered  Dimny's  anxiety  about  Vrouw  Weenix.  She 
had  told  him  of  Klemm's  assurance  that  ths  peasant  woman 
had  been  set  free.  He  remembered  the  cottage;  she  had 
pointed  it  out  to  him  on  their  way  into  Belgium.  He  drew 
up  there  now  to  make  inquiry. 

The  place  was  filled  with  refugees  who  had  found  in  the 
abandoned  home  a  shelter  from  the  winter.  When  Noll 
knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  for  Vrouw  Weenix  an 
emaciated  old  woman  told  him  that  Vrouw  Weenix  was 
dead — shot  by  the  Germans,  buried  in  a  pit  in  Esschen. 

Noll  was  not  yet  so  used  to  tragedies  as  to  be  indifferent 
to  the  destruction  of  this  one  more  field-mouse  in  the  claws 
of  the  black  eagle. 

The  school-girls  found  Noll  an  unaccountably  surly  com 
panion.  They  were  as  glad  to  leave  him  at  Rotterdam  as  he 

234 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  be  quit  of  their  responsibility.  When  he  turned  them 
over  to  other  guardians  he  had  no  imagination  to  follow 
them  across  the  Channel  to  their  blissful  reunions  with 
their  families,  nor  to  imagine  the  rapture  of  the  German 
girls  exchanged  for  them,  girl  for  girl,  the  lucky  chosen  ones 
weeping  with  incredulous  joy,  the  deferred  ones  weeping 
with  homesick  anxiety  lest  the  next  quota  of  English  girls 
might  not  get  past  the  barrier.  They  knew  their  German 
fathers,  those  German  daughters  from  the  Heimat  of  Magda. 

Noll  begged  for  permission  to  return  at  once  to  Brussels, 
but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  get  his  messages  ready  till 
the  third  day.  Three  batches  of  English  girls  came  in  by 
train  from  Brussels  before  he  could  leave  Rotterdam,  and 
on  the  return  trip  he  passed  two  more  motor-loads  of  them 
in  the  C.  R.  B.  cars. 

He  nearly  burned  out  his  engine  in  his  haste,  but  he 
delivered  his  mail-bag  and  flew  to  the  Palace  Hotel. 

He  asked  for  Colonel  Klemm  first.  The  German  at 
tendant  explained  that  the  Herr  Oberstleutnant  had  left 
Brussels  an  hour  before  in  his  car. 

Noll  asked  for  Miss  Parcot.     The  attendant  grinned. 

"She  left  an  hour  ago  in  the  car  of  the  Herr  Oberst 
leutnant." 

Noll  was  thunderstruck.  He  stammered:  "Where  did 
they  go?  When  do  they  come  back?" 

"  They  did  not  say." 

Noll's  fist  ached  to  destroy  the  leer  on  that  hateful  face, 
but  his  terror  for  Dimny  unmanned  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

r"PHE  first  distressing  symptom  of  true  love  is  distrust, 
1  for  jealousy  is  a  mixture  of  suspicion  and  of  humility. 

That  was  what  ailed  Dimny  when  she  appeared  at  the 
C.  R.  B.  in  great  anxiety  and  assailed  Skelton  with  a  new 
problem : 

"I'm  worried  because  Noll  isn't  back.  Won't  you  please 
telegraph  and  ask  if  he's  safe?" 

"Oh,  the  Germans  won't  harm  him,"  lied  Skelton. 

"There  are  other  dangers  than  Germans,"  said  Dimny, 
but  did  not  explain  that  she  was  thinking  of  those  English 
girls  Noll  had  taken  to  Holland.  Skelton  did  not  under 
stand  her  jealousy  any  more  than  she  did.  He  guessed : 

"He's  probably  very  busy." 

"That's  what  I'm  afraid  of,"  said  Dimny,  and  said  no 
more,  but  went  on  wondering  why  she  worried. 

In  three  days  of  zealous  endeavor  Dimny  saw  all  the 
girls  exported  except  Miss  Curfey,  the  one  she  had  been 
most  eager  to  retrieve.  She  urged  Klemm  to  redouble  his 
efforts.  The  thwarted  Christmas  spirit  had  seemed  to 
come  to  Dimny  belatedly,  with  the  spy  Klemm  posing  as 
Kriss  Kringle.  Suspect  him  as  she  might — as  she  must — 
she  could  not  deny  his  prodigies  of  achievement  in  dis 
covering  the  English  girls  and  sending  them  home  to  a 
holiday  all  the  dearer  for  being  delayed. 

These  largesses  of  rapture  in  a  cruel  time  meant  hardly 
more  to  Klemm  than  looking  up  a  few  names  in  a  big 
directory  and  making  out  a  few  passports;  but  he  went 
at  the  task  with  a  will. 

His  own  motive  was  partly  to  show  old  von  Bissing 
that  he  could  accomplish  the  possible  if  not  the  impos 
sible;  partly  to  please  Dimny,  who  fascinated  him  in 
creasingly  as  a  problem  and  as  an  unconscious  siren.  Her 

236 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

very  innocence  of  manner  goaded  his  suspicions.  He  was 
not  used  to  the  American  type  of  girl  whose  self-respect 
is  a  better  chaperon  than  any  mischief-making  duenna. 
Dimny  tantalized  him  with  an  indifference  to  the  con 
ventions  which  was  devoid  of  any  inclination  to  take  illicit 
advantage  of  her  liberties. 

She  kept  the  spies  he  set  on  her  track  standing  out  in  the 
cold,  while  she  worked  in  the  charity-shops,  feeding  little 
school-children  or  young  mothers.  It  was  peculiarly 
harrowing  to  a  grown-up  cynical  spy  to  stand  out  in  the 
snow  acquiring  no  information  except  as  to  the  distressful- 
ness  of  chilblains  while  the  alleged  criminal  labored  at 
errands  of  mercy.  If  Dimny  had  any  work  to  do  as  a  spy, 
she  was  plainly  taking  her  time  about  getting  at  it — trying 
to  wear  her  shadows  out,  no  doubt.  She  was  plainly  making 
many  friends  among  the  Belgians,  and  that  in  itself  was 
almost  seditious. 

Klemm  had  not  yet  received  the  copy  of  her  letter  in  the 
files  at  70  Koniggratzerstrasse.  He  telegraphed  again  and 
learned  that  the  copy  had  been  burned  in  a  train  set  on  fire 
by  a  British  aviator;  another  copy  was  to  be  forwarded. 
In  the  meanwhile  Klemm's  only  recourse  was  to  pretend 
to  be  off  his  guard,  in  the  hope  of  surprising  Dimny  off  hers. 
And  so  he  made  friends  with  her  as  best  he  could.  This  was 
not  difficult,  since  she  was  eager  to  be  grateful  and  she  de 
lighted  his  every  sense. 

Klemm  made  himself  extraordinarily  agreeable.  He  had 
studied  Dimny's  prejudices,  and  he  played  on  her  sym 
pathies.  He  tossed  candies  to  Belgian  children.  He 
showed  delicate  courtesies  to  the  English  girls  and  to  the 
nuns  who  dreaded  to  let  them  go.  Some  of  the  nuns  were 
dilatory  about  securing  the  necessary  photographs.  They 
frankly  distrusted  German  promises.  But  Klemm  was 
all  patience.  When  a  Mother  Superior  protested  that 
it  took  too  long  to  get  the  girls'  pictures  taken,  Klemm 
reminded  her  of  the  numerous  camera-shops  that  ad 
vertised  "Pass  Photographien  in  zwei  M-inuten." 

He  praised  America.  He  forbore  to  alarm  Dimny  with 
further  reference  to  the  time  when  she  had  been  in  his 
arms,  as  he  supposed.  A  dozen  times  she  resolved  to  con- 

237 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

fess  that  she  was  not  her  sister  and  appeal  to  the  new 
heart  he  had  revealed.  But  still  she  postponed  the  con 
fession. 

Meanwhile  Klemm  flattered  himself  that  her  courtesy 
to  him  was  something  more  than  gratitude.  He  was  sure 
that  at  least  she  was  flirting  with  him.  He  felt  that  her 
heart  was  ripe  for  plucking,  but  he  was  afraid  to  make  any 
mistake  within  the  parish  of  Brussels.  He  resolved  to 
coax  her  to  some  region  beyond  that  influence. 

At  this  time  the  C.  R.  B.  was  just  beginning  to  respond  to 
the  desperate  hunger -crisis  in  the  occupied  portions  of 
France.  It  had  not  yet  taken  over  and  organized  the 
feeding  of  these  millions  of  lonely,  hungry  ones,  as  it  did 
later.  So  Klemm  told  Dimny  that  he  had  found  Miss 
Curfey  in  the  French  war  zone,  but  that  the  nuns  had 
refused  to  let  her  go  with  Klemm  on  his  own  recognizance. 
He  asked  Dimny  to  try  her  persuasive  powers.  With 
her  to  vouch  for  him.  Miss  Curfey  would  doubtless  be  sur 
rendered  at  once.  She  could  then  be  brought  back  to 
Brussels  without  delay. 

Dimny  suggested  waiting  for  the  return  of  Noll  Win- 
sor,  but  Klemm  protested  that  at  any  moment  von  Bis- 
sing  might  revoke  his  permission.  He  promised  to  have 
Dimny  back  in  Brussels  before  Herr  Vinsor  arrived,  since 
the  French  war-front  was  not  far  away  by  automobile 
standards. 

Dimny  was  eager  to  find  Miss  Curfey  and  finish  her 
task.  She  consented.  They  left  Brussels  a  few  hours 
before  Noll  came  tearing  in. 

Klemm  drove  his  big  military  car,  and  Dimny  sat  by 
his  side.  The  speed  created  a  gale,  and  it  was  knifing 
cold.  Dimny  shivered  miserably  in  spite  of  her  heavy 
coat,  till  Klemm  stopped  the  car,  got  down,  and  opening 
a  military  trunk  strapped  to  the  rack,  took  forth  an  over 
coat  of  the  regulation  field  gray,  with  a  deep  collar  of 
brown  fur.  '  He  offered  it  to  Dimny.  She  declined.  He 
pleaded.  She  yielded. 

As  her  arms  slipped  into  the  great  sleeves,  he  squeezed 
her  shoulders  with  a  gentle  pressure  that  did  not  last  long 
enough  to  be  rebuked,  but  only  long  enough  to  alarm  her. 

238 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  could  tell  by  her  startled  look  that  his  caresses  were 
not  welcome — not  yet,  he  told  himself. 

Before  he  closed  his  trunk  he  had  an  inspiration.  His 
helmet  was  there.  He  thought  how  quaintly  it  would 
become  the  beauty  of  his  passenger.  He  held  it  up  to 
her  with  a  milliner's  gesture. 

"  If  you  should  wear  this  nize  bonnet — " 

She  waved  it  away  with  scorn. 

He  persisted:  " If  you  should  wear  this  nize  bonnet,  and 
keep  the  collar  of  those  overcoat  toorned  up,  you  look 
like  an  offitser." 

She  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  care  to  look  like  a 
German  officer. 

He  continued:  "The  soldiers  ve  pass  should  not  make 
such  a  staringk.  Ve  do  not  have  to  stop  so  much.  Ve 
get  back  by  Brussel  qvicker." 

That  was  an  argument  she  could  not  withstand.  She 
whipped  off  her  motor-cap,  lifted  the  helmet  high  with 
a  coronation  sweep  and  lowered  it  to  her  head.  Then 
she  pushed  her  hair  up  under  it  and  automatically  reached 
for  a  hatpin.  She  laughed  at  herself  when  she  realized 
the  futility  of  trying  to  thrust  a  hatpin  through  a  helmet, 
especially  as  she  had  no  hatpin. 

Klemm  fastened  his  trunk  and  returned  to  the  wheel. 
He  felt  that  he  was  getting  somewhere  at  last.  Dimny 
looked  more  exquisite  than  ever  in  her  war-bonnet,  and  she 
seemed  to  enjoy  it. 

The  zest  of  the  adventure  was  irresistible.  She  learned 
the  thrill  of  being  saluted  by  the  sentinels  they  whizzed 
past,  and  once  when  they  met  a  detachment  of  troops, 
the  officer  in  command  saluted  her  by  shouting  "Auf!" — 
whereupon  the  soldiers  saluted  her  by  performing  the 
goose-step  of  ceremony,  and  turning  their  eyes  to  the  left. 

"They  theenk  ve  are  some  Cherman  chenerals.  If  ve 
go  slower,  they  should  see  you  do  not  look  like  some 
chenerals,  Gott  set  Dank!  but  like  the  daughter  of  the 
Kaiser  when  she  vas  a  colonel  of  a  regiment." 

From  a  crossroad  came  hooting  a  huge  gray  car  driven 
with  a  rage  of  speed  that  suggested  a  comet's  catastrophic 
rush.  Dimny  caught  a  scared  glimpse  of  a  lank  individual 

239 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

with  a  peculiarly  fox-like  face,  under  a  military  cap  tilted 
to  one  ear,  a  gangling  body  of  wilted  bamboo  in  a  lazy 
attitude,  for  all  his  haste.  At  his  side  sat  a  young  soldier 
who  threw  a  glance  of  wrath  at  Klemm  for  nearly  being 
killed.  But  the  driver,  the  personification  of  flippancy, 
went  his  way  like  a  clown  on  a  meteor,  leaving  it  to  Klemm 
to  take  care  of  himself,  although  Klemm's  disaster  would 
have  meant  his  own. 

Dimny  was  angrier  than  she  was  afraid.  She  cried: 
"That  idiot  must  be  insane!  What  asylum  is  he  escaping 
from?" 

As  Klemm  swung  the  car  back  into  the  road  from  the 
ditch,  he  gasped: 

"Dat  eediot  is  de  Crown  Prince  himself.  You  should 
not  say  he  is  eensane." 

He  seemed  to  be  more  shaken  by  her  blasphemy  than 
by  the  graze  with  death.  Dimny  laughed  at  his  horror. 

"Well,  he  scared  you,  too!" 

Klemm  protested:  "  I  am  not  scared  for  me,  but  for  him. 
If  he  ditt  hit  me  and  kill  me  and  bruise  or  break  himself, 
oh,  how  sorry  I  should  be — and  ashamed !" 

To  Dimny,  the  American,  this  absolute  reverence  for 
a  human  being,  even  an  heir  to  a  throne,  was  as  incom 
prehensible  as  any  other  voodoo-worship.  But  she  saw 
almost  for  the  first  time  sincerity  in  Klemm's  eyes.  She 
realized  that  for  all  his  cynicism  toward  the  virtues  she 
revered,  he  was  an  abject  savage  in  his  adoration  of  the 
ruling  family  of  Prussia.  He  believed  literally  the  Kaiser's 
frequent  advertisements  of  the  Hohenzollerns  as  the  old- 
established,  one  and  only  reliable  Holy  Family,  purveyors 
by  special  appointment  to  the  heavenly  court. 

It  was  that  bewildering  mixture  of  primeval  fetish- 
worship  and  scientific  to-morrowism  that  made  the  Ger 
mans  so  dangerous. 

Dimny  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time;  nor  did  Klemm. 
Miles  went  by,  the  usual  miles  of  the  region,  every  prospect 
revealing  by  its  present  misery  how  beautiful  it  once  had 
been.  Forests  were  splintered,  fields  pocked  with  shell, 
lowly  homes  blasted  and  smashed,  villages  bowled  over. 

The  people  here  in  France  had  been  treated,  if  possible, 

240 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

a  little  more  ruthlessly  than  in  Belgium.  The  men  of 
military  age  had  all  been  taken  into  the  army  at  the  first 
mobilization.  The  weak  and  aged  males  alone  remained, 
unable  to  protect  their  womankind  at  all.  The  whim  of 
the  conqueror  was  their  judgment-seat,  and  such  villainy 
flourished  as  history  has  hardly  ever  known.  It  was  said 
later,  with  an  exaggeration  hardly  emphasizing  the  hideous 
truth,  that  "every  woman  who  could  have  a  child  had 
one";  and  the  provisions  for  this  army  of  Franco-German 
bastards  became  one  of  the  national  problems. 

On  one  horizon  there  was  a  vast  pile  of  wreckage,  of 
blunted  and  toppled  gables,  of  gouged  and  truncated  tur 
rets,  of  tiles  spilled  along  crooked  roofs,  of  sooty  caverns 
that  had  been  windows,  of  splintered  columns  and  col 
lapsed  stairways,  of  fountains  choked  with  ashes  and 
statues  fallen  among  cinders.  The  sight  of  it  doomed  the 
whole  region  to  ugliness.  It  was  as  harsh  as  the  note  of  a 
raven  eternally  croaking  despair. 

When  the  car  approached  on  the  twisting  road,  the 
chateau  made  a  sort  of  transit  across  the  sun,  in  whose 
dazzling  rays  it  seemed  to  be  suddenly  restored  to  glory. 
Dimny  could  almost  see  how  superbly  the  stately  residence 
had  once  enriched  its  horizons,  the  turrets  suave  of  curve, 
the  gables  nice  of  angle,  the  mullioned  windows  the  very 
blossoms  of  marble,  the  stairways  phrases  of  welcome,  the 
fountains  musical,  the  statues  serene.  This  home  had 
kept  for  centuries  a  festival  of  beauty,  of  grace,  of  luxury, 
of  hospitality  aglow  upon  this  scene;  for  even  the  distant 
view  of  a  beautiful  home  is  itself  a  kind  of  hospitality,  a 
comforting  and  cheering  hail  to  the  wayfarer.  All  that  the 
chateau  had  ever  chanted  to  hearten  the  countryside  was 
altered  now  to  a  doleful  warning.  It  said:  "If  you  seek 
the  monument  of  German  Kultur,  look  about  you." 

The  car  swerved;  the  sun  retreated  to  a  post  whence 
the  light  cruelly  exposed  the  shame  of  the  ruined  man 
sion  as  one  might  whip  the  last  cloak  from  a  stark  old 
crone  whose  beauty  in  youth  had  been  sung.  So  this 
building  grieved  in  a  huddle  like  la  belle  Heaulmiere  naked 
in  her  senility. 

The  massacre  of  these  homes,  these  churches,  seemed 

241 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  Dimny,  as  to  all  the  tm-German  world,  an  atrocity 
so  depressing  that  only  one  other  atrocity  could  surpass 
it,  and  that  was  the  threat  of  the  Germans  to  restore 
with  their  own  hands  the  ruins  after  the  war.  The  dread 
of  that  ultimate  vandalism  put  new  determination  into 
all  artistic  souls  to  resist  to  the  last. 

The  car  sped  on  until  at  length  the  road  drew  toward  a 
chateau  whose  magnificence  was  still  unscathed.  The 
grounds  about  it  were  filled  with  soldiers.  As  Dimny  and 
Klemm  approached  the  gate,  they  saw  the  car  that  had 
borne  the  Crown  Prince  past  them,  just  moving  on. 

The  guard  of  honor  finished  its  salute,  and  a  throng  of 
officers  broke  up  and  hurried  to  the  steps  of  the  chateau. 
Klemm  regretted  his  tardiness,  and  he  explained  to  Dimny 
that  she  had  narrowly  escaped  the  tremendous  privilege 
of  presentation  to  the  next  Kaiser.  She  did  not  regret 
the  escape,  and  she  begged  him  not  to  pause,  but  she 
could  not  leap  from  the  car  as  it  swung  in  at  the  gate 
and  rolled  up  to  the  steps. 

Klemm  conducted  her  into  a  royal  hall  and  thence  into 
a  vast  salon.  The  painted  romances  on  the  ceiling,  the 
ecstatic  decorations  among  the  panels  and  the  mirrors 
in  the  walls,  were  all  of  France  in  her  most  gorgeous 
phase,  but  the  inhabitants  of  the  room  were  of  the  Ger 
mans  German  to  the  last  degree. 

On  divans  dressed  in  exquisite  silks  sprawled  uniformed 
Huns.  Chairs  delicate  as  fans  upheld  big  feet  booted  and 
spurred.  Helmets  with  foppishly  long  spikes  hung  on  the 
heads  of  carved  nymphs  at  the  mantelpieces.  An  officer 
was  knocking  the  ashes  from  a  pipe  on  the  dimpled  elbow 
of  a  dryad  all  rosy  from  the  flames  leaping  in  a  great  fire 
place;  another  was  tipsily  brandishing  a  saber  and  trying 
to  clip  the  ears  from  a  marble  bust  of  a  satyr  without  damage 
to  its  smile.  He  was  not  succeeding. 

Card-players  were  smacking  their  cards  down  on  tables 
of  onyx  and  ormolu.  Champagne-bottles  were  every 
where,  shattered  in  the  fireplace,  rolling  emptily  about  the 
floor  or  firing  off  their  corks  in  the  hands  of  private  sol 
diers  acting  as  servants. 

Dimny  fell  back  from  the  door  as  Klemm  drew  her 
242 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

back.  He  was  not  proud  of  the  scene.  He  led  her  across 
the  hall  to  another  salon  where  there  were  fewer  officers 
and  they  more  sober.  There  were  only  a  few  champagne- 
bottles  here,  'and  all  erect. 

The  officers  paid  no  heed  to  Klemm  till  he  saluted  an 
elderly  man  and  begged  to  present  to  him  an  ambassadress 
from  America.  This  shook  the  old  general  to  his  feet, 
and  all  his  staff  with  him. 

Dimny  might  have  been  far  less  young  and  winsome 
and  still  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  these  warriors.  Gen 
eral  von  Spahn  was  fatherly  in  his  greeting,  and  he  laughed 
amiably  at  Dimny's  uniform.  He  waved  his  hand  to  the 
other  officers,  introducing  them  en  masse,  but  each  of 
them  had  to  come  forward,  clap  his  heels  together,  break 
at  the  waist  and  bow  himself  into  a  rigid  right  angle, 
straighten  up,  pronounce  his  name  and  title,  right-angle 
again  and  back  off. 

General  von  Spahn  was  cordial  to  Dimny  because,  as 
he  explained,  several  of  his  friends  had  American  wives 
who  were  more  loyal  to  Germany  than  the  Germans.  He 
implied  with  an  old  man's  humor  that  some  of  his  younger 
officers  were  willing  to  enlist  another  pretty  Amerikanerin, 
at  which  the  other  officers  laughed  and  snickered  with  a 
little  more  than  the  usual  amusement  of  younger  officers 
at  older  officers'  jokes.  For  many  years  rich  American 
wives  had  been  furnishing  impoverished  Prussian  guards 
men  with  the  money  necessary  to  their  careers.  The  com 
petition  was  keen,  and  the  officers  were  called  dollar-chasers 
(Dollar -jager).  The  General's  suggestion  put  a  new  and 
thrilling  idea  into  Klemm's  head. 

Klemm  explained  that  he  was  conducting  Fraulein  Parcot 
on  a  mission  for  General  Freiherr  von  Bissing  and  had 
stopped  to  ask  for  a  little  rest  and  refreshment.  General 
von  Spahn  escorted  them  to  his  own  quarters  in  the  music- 
room  of  the  chateau  and  said  he  would  be  glad  to  give 
them  what  poor  food  a  soldier's  life  afforded.  He  begged 
to  be  excused  from  joining  them,  as  an  important  council 
was  on,  but  he  excused  a  few  of  his  younger  officers  to  keep 
them  company.  Klemm  urged  them  not  to  neglect  their 
business,  but  they  laughed,  and  followed  the  Dollar jagd. 

243 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Klemm  drank  with  a  zeal  that  alarmed  Dimny,  but 
he  grew  very  gentle  therewith.  He  was  of  that  dour  type 
which  is  subnormal  in  temperature  and  remains  cynical 
and  harsh  of  soul  until  the  flame  of  alcohol  has  warmed 
him  up  and  stirred  to  life  hidden  courtesies  and  sup 
pressed  genialities.  As  he  grew  more  loquacious  the  other 
officers  gave  up  the  effort  at  competition  and  withdrew, 
bowing  and  snapping  back  to  position,  kissing  Dimny's 
hand  and  murmuring  compliments.  Klemm  made  no 
secret  of  his  ability  to  endure  their  absence. 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  room,  its  enameled  surface 
decorated  with  scenes  from  Gre*try's  operas  by  some 
French  artist  of  joyous  brush.  Klemm  began  to  feel  music 
bubbling  in  his  effervescing  soul.  He  wanted  to  sing. 
The  wine  had  not  so  much  made  him  boastful  as  it  had 
removed  the  check  on  his  frank  delight  in  his  own  gifts. 

Dimny  begged  him  to  resume  the  journey  at  once,  but 
he  was  jovially  stubborn.  He  told  Dimny  that  he  was  a 
"goot  zingker,"  and  he  felt  sure  that  she  also  had  a  "sveet 
woice. "  He  pleaded  with  her  to  sing,  but  she  had  no  song 
in  her  heart.  Her  hands  ached,  however,  to  try  the  piano. 

She  had  not  touched  one  since  she  left  California,  and 
her  fingers  were  as  restive  as  colts  kept  stabled. 

She  began  as  timidly  as  the  first  twittering  of  a  bird  be 
ginning  its  aubade.  Soon  she  forgot  sorrow  and  the 
world's  wrack  and  returned  for  a  while  to  the  golden 
era  when  melody  and  harmony  were  things  of  importance. 

Then  her  soul  remembered  and  grew  abysmally  sad. 
Glittering  arpeggios  subsided  into  dissonances  bitter  with 
gall.  Music  that  cannot  describe  an  incident,  announce  a 
date  or  speak  a  name,  can  give  to  grief  and  woe  and  love 
and  longing  their  perfect  utterance.  It  cannot  deal  with 
facts,  but  it  relates  the  very  essence  of  truth.  The  piano 
seemed  to  say  for  Dimny  all  that  words  could  not,  the  grief 
within  grief. 

Klemm  applauded  discreetly  at  first  and  lavished  com 
pliments  that  Dimny  did  not  hear.  But  at  length  he 
grew  impatient  to  be  singing.  He  searched  among  the 
books  and  loose  leaves  of  music  he  had  found.  He  threw 
aside  with  a  sniff  the  native  masterpieces  of  the  French, 

244 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

whose  musical  art  the  Germans  had  always  overborne 
with  their  more  ponderous  accomplishments.  For  the 
genius  of  D'Indy,  Debussy,  Ravel,  and  Hahn  he  had  no 
ear,  but  he  rejoiced  noisily  when  he  found  two  or  three 
albums  of  German  songs  published  with  French  translations 
in  the  millennial  period  before  the  war,  before  the  hate  of 
nation  for  nation  had  extended  to  their  dead  and  living  arts. 

Placing  a  volume  of  Schumann  on  the  music-rack,  Klemm 
announced : 

"  I  am  now goingk  zingk.  You  play  goot  Begkitung,  yes? 
I  am  sure." 

Dimny  shook  her  head,  but  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
page,  her  fingers  entered  the  accompaniment  and  Klemm 
knew  that  she  could  be  a  perfect  adjutant.  His  voice 
broke  into  song.  It  was  a  trifle  husky  with  disuse  and 
abuse,  but  he  read  with  an  intelligence  and  a  training 
that  could  not  be  despised. 

A  more  treasonable,  strategical  and  spoils-hunting  knave 
than  Klemm  could  hardly  have  been  conceived.  He  made 
duplicity  and  cruelty  his  religion,  his  art,  his  career;  and 
yet  his  musical  soul  was  child-like  and  bland.  It  lifted 
Dimny  from  her  gloom  and  made  her  turn  her  face  from 
him  lest  he  see  her  smiling  while  he  sang  with  all  the 
innocence  of  a  young  lover  Schumann's  tender  music  to 
Riickert's  cozy  lyric,  "Aus  den  ostlichen  Rosen" 

She  smiled  as  accompanists  do,  in  the  concealment  of 
their  back  hair,  but  when  Klemm  selected  the  "Fruh- 
lingsnacht"  for  his  unsolicited  encore,  she  forgot  him  in 
the  shimmering  rhapsody  of  the  piano-part.  She  did  not 
heed  the  words  of  triumph  that  meant  so  much  to  him, 
singing  down  at  her  as  his  possession.  "The  moon,  the 
stars  are  replying  to  the  dreaming  groves  of  pine.  And 
the  nightingales  are  crying,  'She  is  thine,  she  is  thine!"1 

Dimny  thought  only  of  spring  nights  filled  with  garden 
aroma,  flights  of  birds,  moon-glory  and  star-splendor,  of 
rustling  thickets  and  nightingales  beating  the  air  with 
song.  The  fierce  exultant  swoop  of  the  winged  chords 
drowned  even  Klemm's  voice  in  a  frenzy  of  joy.  It  was 
good  to  be  young;  it  was  a  duty  to  love;  spring  must  soon 
come  again  as  it  had  always  come  again.  Why  else  should 

245 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

it  go  but  that  it  might  enter  anew  with  its  eternal  unbe 
lievable  beauty?  She  thought  of  Noll  Winsor  and  played 
to  him  with  a  fearless  frankness,  seeing  that  he  was  as  far 
away  as  spring. 

Klemm  left  her  to  her  anguish  of  joy,  while  he  searched 
long  and  fretfully  for  another  lyric.  In  a  perplexity  of 
choices,  he  chose  at  last  the  one  he  least  desired,  the  sar 
donic  spring-song  that  Hugo  Wolf  made  of  the  wail  of  a 
poor  human  jailbird. 

It  left  Dimny  with  her  music-rapture  exhausted.  But 
Klemm  was  not  yet  sung  out,  and  he  set  her  another  task, 
Jensen's  "  Marie,"  the  song  of  the  girl  sitting  by  her  flowers 
at  the  window  in  such  peace  and  purity  that  the  wanderer 
going  by  lifts  his  heart  in  prayer: 

"  Oh,  may  no  storm  your  flowers  break, 
Nor  yet  your  heart,  Marie!  " 

Dimny  struck  the  last  chords  in  a  reverie.  She  had 
known  and  loved  German  music  well,  and  the  stories  of 
the  makers  of  that  music:  Bach  the  family -man,  the 
tender  Mozart,  quaint  old  Papa  Haydn,  the  tormented 
Beethoven,  sunny-hearted  Gluck,  Schumann  the  perfect 
lover,  Schubert  the  timid  songster,  kindly  old  Franz,  all 
with  their  harmonies  welling  up  in  spite  of  their  poverties, 
blindness,  deafness,  madness.  Hugo  Wolf  had  killed  him 
self,  and  Schumann  had  tried  to.  They  were  all  men  of 
sorrows,  and  a  learned  tenderness  marked  them  all  and 
made  their  music  supreme. 

But  since  this  war  the  supreme  expression  of  the  Ger 
man  soul  seemed  to  be  an  inexhaustible  cruelty,  a  deaf 
ness  to  the  cries  of  victims  or  to  the  protest  of  the  world 
aghast.  Which  way  lay  the  truth?  Were  the  composers 
and  the  Lmfcr-wreathers  vile  hypocrites,  weepers  of  melo 
dious  crocodile  tears,  or  had  these  latter-day  devils  be 
trayed  the  old  Germany? 

Could  it  be  the  same  race  whose  poets  were  moved  to 
prayer  by  the  vision  of  innocent  girlhood  and  whose  sol 
diers  were  moved  to  lust  by  the  same  vision?  Could  a 
nation  plead  with  God  to  spare  the  flowers  and  the  heart 
of  a  maiden  and  later  give  God  the  praise  for  the  triumph 

246 


THE   UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

over  Belgium,  and  then  bayonet  and  outrage  Flemish 
women,  make  harlots  of  the  captured  French,  drag  from 
Lille  its  girlhood  into  slavery,  doom  Poland  to  famine 
and  withhold  all  remonstrance  from  the  Turks  who  sought 
to  obliterate  the  Armenian  millions  ? 

What  kind  of  flesh  and  blood  could  they  be  made  of, 
these  Germans?  Or  were  they  mere  every-day  people 
who  had  been  kept  in  an  evil  school  too  long,  poisoned  from 
childhood  with  a  religion  of  loyalty  to  a  dynasty  ashamed 
of  nothing  but  its  failure  to  crush  the  world  under  its 
dominion  ? 

She  thought  of  the  assassinated  nations,  all  Europe 
bleeding,  moaning,  starving  in  its  shattered  homestead, 
of  France  pouring  out  its  lives  along  its  ragged  frontiers, 
of  her  own  sister  and  mother,  of  ruin  and  wailing  every 
where.  And  she  cried  out  to  Klemm: 

"What  has  happened  to  you  Germans?  What  are  you 
trying  to  do  to  this  poor  world?  Who  can  ever  listen  to 
your  music  again  without  remembering  Belgium?  Who 
can  ever  believe  another  German  love-song?  What  will 
your  women  think  of  you  when  you  go  home?" 

Klemm  came  down  from  the  clouds  in  a  fuddle,  mum 
bling:  "  Bitte?  Was  haben  Sie,  dann?  Sind  Sie  base  auf 
mich?  You  don't  like  it,  my  zingkink?  No?" 

"I  don't  like  you  or  anything  you  do,"  she  cried,  in  a 
growing  frenzy.  "I  want  you  to  take  me  away  this 
minute!" 

He  was  humbled  at  her  failure  to  approve  his  voice, 
and  he  grew  meek. 

"I  come;  ve  go  find  Mees  Curfey  right  avay." 

"Take  me  first  to  my  sister." 

"Your  sister?     You  have  den  a  sister.     Who  is  she?" 

"The  sister  you  took  me  for.  The  sister  you  mistreated. 
The  sister  you  said  you  held  in  your  arms." 

His  very  eyes  gaped  at  her.     "You  are  not  your  sister?" 

"No!" 

"Den  who  you  are?"  he  thundered. 

"I  am  myself.  I  am  an  American.  I  came  for  my 
sister,  and  you  know  where  she  is.  Take  me  to  her,  or 
I'll— I'll— 

247 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  could  find  nothing  to  threaten  him  with.  The 
wrongs  she  had  suffered  were  so  monstrous,  her  hands 
were  so  empty  of  weapons,  her  nation  was  so  far  away 
and  so  devoid  of  power,  that  she  choked  with  a  loathing 
of  the  world  as  it  was. 

Klemm's  look  of  stupidity  changed  to  malignance. 

"So!  You  did  make  lies  to  me.  You  would  have  me 
to  the  fools!  So!" 

He  was  smothered  with  rage  at  his  own  blunder.  He 
was  silenced  by  the  difficulty  of  finding  any  punishment 
severe  enough.  He  sank  into  a  chair  and  glowered  at  her 
while  he  pondered. 

And  Dimny  sat  in  a  stupor  of  remorse  at  her  fatal  out 
burst.  She  had  withheld  the  secret  only  to  disclose  it  at 
the  worst  of  all  times.  She  called  herself  fool  and  knave, 
and  told  herself  that  somebody  ought  to  kill  her  as  a  use 
less  cumberer  of  the  ground. 

And  somebody  almost  did.  Thunderbolts  came  from 
the  sky. 

For  the  clamorous  silences  of  the  room  were  broken 
by  the  sound  of  cannon-fire.  Shouts  were  heard;  the 
floors  were  shaken  by  the  trample  of  running  feet.  Klemm 
went  to  the  window  and  glanced  out.  He  saw  that  officers 
and  soldiers  were  scanning  the  clouds.  Anti-aircraft  guns 
were  bombarding  the  heavens. 

It  was  a  commonplace  with  him,  and  it  was  none  of 
his  business  to  fight  the  hostile  French  vultures.  He 
went  back  to  his  chair  to  consider  his  own  problem.  Dimny 
ran  to  the  window  and  tried  to  peer  up  at  the  intruder 
upon  the  German  skies.  She  could  see  nothing,  though 
she  could  tell  by  the  pointing  fingers  and  the  turning 
heads  of  the  throngs  outside  which  way  the  airship  went. 

But  the  bird  afloat  above  was  not  killed  by  any  of  the 
marksmen  beneath.  It  dropped  bombs  instead.  One  of 
them  came  smashing,  crashing,  rending,  roaring,  through 
the  roof  and  through  ceiling  after  ceiling  into  the  music- 
room.  Fragments  of  shell,  an  avalanche  of  timbers  and 
a  whirlwind  of  plaster  and  splinters  filled  the  air. 

Dimny  was  knocked  down — killed,  she  thought,  in  the 
hurtle  of  death,  but  she  came  back  from  oblivion  to  find 

248 


Dimny  ripped  open  the  collar  of  the  wretch's  tunic,  and 
groped  about  his  throat  till  she  felt  the  pumping  throb 
of  a  great  artery.    There  she  pressed  her  thumb  with  all  her 
might.    And  the  blood  jumped  no  more  from  the  remnant 
of  his  arm. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

herself  alive  and  unhurt  among  the  ruins.  Her  wits  came 
back  slowly  as  she  watched  the  slow  subsidence  of  the 
dust  in  the  air,  the  uneasy  movements  of  crisscrossed  joists. 

She  cried  out  at  the  ruins  about  her.  Then  she  saw 
that  a  man  lay  still  on  the  floor — yet  not  entirely  still, 
for  from  his  mangled  side  blood  was  jetting  in  red  blurts. 

She  recognized  Klemm,  and  common  humanity  over 
came  her  dread.  She  rose  and  stumbled  toward  him, 
shuddering  at  his  hideous  estate  and  wondering  what  to  do. 
She  cried  for  help,  but  the  guns  were  still  aroar.  She  tried 
to  recall  the  principles  of  first-aid  that  she  had  studied  and 
forgotten  again  and  again. 

One  thing  was  certain.  She  must  stop  that  squandering 
of  blood  at  once.  She  saw  that  most  of  his  left  arm  was 
gone.  She  almost  fainted  when  she  saw  it  lying  in  a  chair 
across  the  room. 

She  gritted  her  teeth  against  the  panic  of  her  faculties. 
She  gritted  all  her  muscles,  and  compelled  them  to  their 
tasks.  And  then  a  picture  from  an  emergency  book  came 
back  to  her. 

She  ripped  open  the  collar  of  the  wretch's  tunic,  and 
groped  about  his  throat  till  she  felt  the  pumping  throb  of 
a  great  artery.  There  she  pressed  her  thumb  with  all  her 
might.  And  the  blood  jumped  no  more  from  the  remnant 
of  his  arm. 

She  held  one  hand  there  while  with  the  other  she  pushed 
aside  a  broken  beam  that  pinioned  his  right  arm.  She 
brushed  the  plaster-dust  from  his  eyes  and  nostrils,  and  she 
waited  for  some  one  to  come  to  the  rescue. 

17 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

WHEN  he  karned  that  Dimny  had  left  the  hotel  Noll's 
mind  ran  everywhere  and  got  nowhere  with  the  swift 
futility  of  a  squirrel  in  a  wheel. 

His  love  cried  out  that  Dimny  had  been  kidnapped 
and  was  suffering  Heaven  only  knew  what  fate.  He  could 
make  no  guess  which  way  to  pursue.  She  had  been  gone 
more  than  an  hour.  In  that  time  she  could  be  forty  or  fifty 
miles  along  any  one  of  the  roads  radiating  from  Brussels. 
How  could  he  follow  without  knowing  which  road  to 
choose? 

He  spent  a  night  of  tormented  anxiety.  The  next 
morning,  incapable  of  waiting  longer,  Noll  took  the  C.  R.  B. 
car  and  set  out  on  a  hunt  at  random.  The  first  four-corners 
stopped  him. 

In  his  confusion  he  remembered  that  Klemm  had  told 
him  of  Nazi  Duhr's  presence  in  Louvain.  There  was  no 
certainty  as  to  the  length  of  his  regiment's  stay  there. 
Noll  had  promised  his  mother  that  he  would  look  up  his 
cousin.  Now  was  his  chance  to  keep  the  promise.  Nazi 
might  know  something  of  Dimny's  people. 

For  lack  of  any  other  impulse,  Noll  turned  his  car 
toward  Louvain.  At  least  it  was  some  place  to  go,  some 
thing  definite  to  attempt.  At  the  Kommandantur  in 
Louvain  he  learned  where  his  cousin  was  billeted,  and, 
leaving  his  car  at  headquarters — at  the  firm  suggestion 
of  headquarters  —  he  found  his  way  to  the  residence 
honored  by  the  compulsory  guest. 

As  he  was  about  to  knock  at  the  door  a  gaunt,  hollow- 
eyed,  hypochondriacal  officer  came  out. 

Remembering  the  pink  cheeks  and  thick  red  lips  and 

250 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

baby-faced  beauty  that  had  marked  Nazi  when  he  visited 
Noll's  mother  at  Carthage,  Noll  had  no  suspicion  that  this 
woebegone  scarecrow  in  uniform  could  be  his  cousin.  The 
officer  spoke  in  a  dismal  tone: 

"Zw  wem  wollen  Sie?" 

"Ich  mochte  Leutnant  Dukr  sprechen." 

"Ich  bin  es." 

"  Du  lieber  Htmmel!" 

Nazi  scowled  at  this,  and  Noll  made  haste  to  explain 
who  he  was.  Nazi  was  incredulous.  Slowly  he  recog 
nized  Noll.  He  expressed  great  delight  verbally  in  the 
meeting,  but  his  spirit  was  broken  and  he  was  incapable  of 
his  old  exuberance.  He  was  war-worn  and  discouraged. 
He  had  hardly  strength  enough  for  curiosity  as  to  Noll's 
motives  in  coming  to  Belgium. 

Noll  asked  how  Nazi's  mother  was  and  if  she  had  got 
the  money,  and  Nazi  said  that  she  was  well  and  she  had; 
and  how  was  Noll's  mother,  and  that  was  good,  and  to  give 
her  his  greetings  when  he  went  back. 

Noll  said  he  hoped  Nazi's  mother  was  not  still  'hungry, 
and  Nazi  said  that  everybody  in  Germany  was  hungry  and 
that  it  was  hoped  the  war  would  be  over  soon  before  every 
body  starved. 

He  looked  about  him  cautiously  and  used  Klemm's  very 
words:  "Haben  Sie  Lust  spazieren  zu  gehen?" 

Noll  assented,  and  Nazi  guided  him  toward  the  more 
deserted  ruins  of  the  city  while  he  poured  out  his  wrath 
at  the  Prussians  and  at  Kaiserdom  and  its  deeds.  He 
had  been  reading  Liebknecht  and  Maximilian  Harden 
and  other  German  opponents  of  militarism  just  before 
the  war  broke.  Noll  had  read  some  of  their  utter 
ances,  too,  and  they  were  to  him  a  redemption  of  the 
German  soul  from  the  charge  of  complete  barbarity. 
Yet  at  best  they  were  the  too  few  good  men  in  Sodom 
who  were  not  enough  to  save  the  city  from  damnation. 
And  he  knew  that  in  time  of  war  the  author  whom  the 
enemy  reads  with  most  approval  is  not  likely  to  have 
much  popularity  at  home. 

Nazi,  however,  was  in  a  fury  against  the  ruling  powers  and 
their  work.  Passing  his  colonel,  he  saluted  him  with  great 

251 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

decision,    but    later   snarled,    "  Du    tnilitdrisches    Kultur- 
schwein!" 

Noll  was  glad  enough  to  hear  Nazi  curse  the  Culture- 
hogs,  but  he  was  not  much  interested  in  the  internal 
economy  of  the  Empire,  not  much  convinced  by  Nazi's 
prophecies  of  a  great  upheaval  shortly  to  throw  down  the 
Teutonic  tyrants. 

"It  will  go  through  the  soil  of  the  Fatherland  like  ,1 
great  plow,"  cried  Nazi,  "turning  under  the  ground  the 
high,  gaudy  weeds  and  bringing  to  the  surface  the  deep^ 
common  clay." 

"Also  a  lot  of  bugs  and  worms,"  said  Noll,  carelessly 
He  was  wondering  where  Dimny  was.  That  was  more 
important  to  him  than  the  political  destinies  of  Ger 
many.  Thinking  that  she  might  have  looked  for  Nazi 
in  Louvain,  he  broke  in  on  Nazi's  flaming  socialisms 
with  a  sudden: 

"By  the  way,  have  you  seen  an  American  young  lady 
named  Parcot  in  Louvain?" 

Nazi  was  dumfounded,  and  he  startled  Noll  by  the 
violence  of  his  expression  as  he  gasped : 

"Yes — no — why — how  did  you  find  out?" 

Noll  assumed  a  look  of  profound  information.  He  was 
startled  by  Nazi's  manner.  It  must  mean  that  some  harm 
had  befallen  Dimny.  So  he  said,  sternly: 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"She  is  waiting  for  me,"  Noll  lied,  glibly. 

Nazi  continued  to  quiver  with  excitement.  He  stared 
at  Noll  searchingly,  and  then  he  said: 

"I  will  show  you  where  she  dwells." 

Noll  was  puzzled  by  that  word  "dwells,"  but  he  said 
nothing  and  accompanied  Nazi  up  the  Rue  des  Joyeuses 
Entrees  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  home  of  the  Tudesqs. 
Then  Nazi  grew  afraid  to  venture  into  the  presence  of 
Alice,  who  had  rebuffed  him  so  sharply.  He  stopped  and 
pointed  to  the  house. 

Noll  could  not  understand  Nazi's  unwillingness  to  go 
farther,  but  he  made  the  more  haste  to  get  to  the  door 
himself.  As  he  raised  his  hand  to  knock,  he  glanced  back 

252 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  saw  that  Nazi  had  already  vanished.  He  wondered 
what  could  have  brought  Dimny  to  this  curious  little 
shack  made  largely  of  scorched  timbers  and  set  up  in  the 
ruins  of  a  burned  home. 

The  door  was  opened  by  little  Philothee  Tudesq,  who 
had  grown  by  now  to  look  as  wise  as  a  sixty-year-old  lady 
condensed  into  child's  size  and  clothes.  Noll  had  been 
speaking  German  to  Nazi,  and  now  his  first  question  was 
in  German.  He  got  only  so  far  as  "Bitte,  mdchte  ich — " 
when  the  door  was  slammed  in  his  face. 

He  was  rather  pleased  than  offended  at  the  insult,  and 
he  took  the  hint.  He  knocked  again  and  again,  but  the 
door  was  not  opened  till  he  called  through  in  French  that 
he  was  not  German,  but  a  friend.  The  door  came  ajar 
enough  for  one  large  eye  to  study  him.  He  bent  down 
and  spoke  to  it. 

"Puis-je  parler  un  moment  avec  Mademoiselle  Par  cot?" 

He  was  very  proud  of  his  French,  but  it  was  his  bad 
pronunciation  that  commended  him  to  Philothee,  for  she 
flung  the  door  wide  and  shouted:  "Vous  etes  Americain, 
n'est-ce  pas,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,"  said  Noll. 

"Entrez,  s'il  vous  plait,"  said  Philothe'e,  with  a  complete 
change  of  manner  from  contempt  to  homage,  and  she 
swept  as  long  a  bow  as  one  could  make  who  was  built  so 
close  to  the  floor. 

Then  she  became  a  child  again  and  ran  storming  up  the 
stairs,  shrieking  to  "mademoiselle"  that  it  had  in  it  there- 
below  a  beautiful  young  American  monsieur  who  had  de 
manded  her.  She  was  speedily  hushed,  but  Noll  could 
hear  soft  footsteps  hurrying,  doors  opening  and  closing, 
the  familiar  evidences  that  an  unexpected  caller  has  caused 
a  sensation  up-stairs  and  that  a  whispered  conference  is 
in  session. 

At  length  he  heard  some  one  coming  shyly  down  the 
rough  stairs.  He  made  ready  to  welcome  Dimny  royally. 
But  it  was  not  she  who  descended.  It  was  a  young  woman, 
slow,  heavy,  frightened,  reluctant.  Noll  saw  no  resem 
blance  to  his  Dimny  in  either  face  or  form,  much  less  in 
carriage. 

253 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  waited  for  him  a  long  moment,  then  faltered  in  per 
fect  English,  "I  am  Miss  Parcot." 

"  Oh,  really?  That's  an  odd  coincidence.  I  was  looking 
for  Miss  Dimny  Parcot." 

This  name  seemed  to  exert  a  startling  effect.  The  other 
Miss  Parcot  wavered  and  staggered  to  a  chair,  sat  down 
and  gripped  it  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  slipping  out  of  it 
to  the  floor.  She  gasped: 

"Where  have  you  seen  her?" 

"In  Brussels  a  few  days  ago." 

This  news  had  an  electric  effect.  The  girl  rose  and  ran 
to  the  stairway  and  stumbled  up,  crying: 

"Mamma!    Mamma!    Dimny!    Dimny  is  in  Belgium!" 

There  were  answering  cries,  and  another  woman  ap 
peared  at  the  head  of  the  steps  and  ran  down  babbling. 
The  two  met  half-way  and  chattered  together,  staring  at 
Noll,  who  understood  at  last  that  the  lost  were  found. 

The  mother  and  sister  came  down  to  him,  both  talking 
at  once.  The  Tudesqs,  the  mother  and  Philomene  and 
Philoth6e,  joined  the  throng.  They  did  not  understand  the 
shrapnel -fire  of  questions  and  answers  in  English.  They 
kept  asking  one  another  what  was  said  and  what  it  meant. 

Noll  told  his  wonder-story;  but  he  spoke  no  word  of 
Alice's  letter  to  Dimny.  He  tried  to  pretend  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  their  martyrdom,  and  he  tried  to  keep  his  eyes 
from  any  confession  that  he  realized  its  cruel  aftermath. 

Alice  and  her  mother  wept  and  laughed.  They  tossed 
side-explanations  to  the  Tudesqs  in  French  and  explained 
to  Noll  a  little  of  the  tragedies  that  had  bound  the  two 
families  together. 

Mrs.  Parcot  began  to  ask  where  Dimny  was,  and  Noll 
must  now  conceal  his  alarm  as  to  her  disappearance. 

He  said  that  being  in  Louvain  and  hearing  of  a  Miss 
Parcot  there,  he  assumed  that  Miss  Dimny  must  have  come 
down  from  Brussels,  where  she  undoubtedly  was.  He  urged 
them  to  go  with  him  at  once  to  meet  her. 

To  his  stupefaction  his  proposal  was  received  rather  with 
dismay  than  as  the  natural  and  only  thing  to  do.  Before 
he  could  solve  this  problem  in  his  mind,  another  reason  for 
the  impossibility  of  his  suggestion  occurred  to  him. 

254 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"You  can't  go  to  Brussels  without  a  pass,  and  it  might 
be  hard  to  get  one.  I'll  bring  Dimny.  It  takes  less  than 
an  hour  to  run  up  to  Brussels,  and  if  she's  ready  to  start 
I'll  be  back  during  the  afternoon." 

They  stared  at  him  with  an  ox-eyed  melancholy.  They 
thanked  him  in  a  daze,  and  he  left  them. 

Noll  found  his  car  and  sent  it  flying  to  Brussels,  assured 
that  Dimny  would  be  there. 

But  she  was  not  there.  And  there  was  no  news  of  her. 
He  could  not  telegraph  or  telephone  this  to  Louvain.  He 
could  only  wait  in  a  fever  of  all  emotions,  none  of  them 
endurable.  His  thoughts  were  whipped  from  one  terror  to 
another. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

DIMNY,  left  alone  with  her  shattered  enemy  in  the 
ruined  music-room,  called  again  and  again,  but  no 
heed  was  paid.  Her  thumb  ached,  and  her  arm  was  an 
agony  of  fatigue,  but  she  held  fast,  for  it  came  to  her 
mind  that  if  she  let  this  poor  villain  die,  his  knowledge  of 
her  sister's  whereabouts  would  perish  with  him.  And  so 
she  crouched  above  him,  grimly  determined  that  he  should 
not  escape  her  so. 

There  the  Germans  found  her  when  at  last  they  ceased 
to  fire  at  the  vanishing  airship  and  went  to  search  the 
results  of  its  work.  General  von  Spahn  gazed  at  her  in 
wonder  and  asked  her  what  she  was  at.  When  she  ex 
plained  with  fierce  anger  and  demanded  a  surgeon,  he 
did  not  rebuke  her,  but  gave  her  his  praise. 

The  surgeon  came  and  stared  at  Dimny  with  the  amaze 
ment  surgeons  always  feel  for  such  of  the  laity  as  know 
the  first  thing  about  the  human  machine.  He  turned 
Klemm  over  to  the  assistant  surgeon  and  took  charge  of 
Dimny  himself. 

She  had  need  of  help,  but  her  collapse  was  the  whole 
some  surrender  of  a  bankrupt  strength.  She  had  no 
temptation  to  go  back  into  that  dreadful  sleep.  She  felt 
as  if  she  were  cured,  and  she  needed  only  an  encouraging 
word  as  to  Klemm's  safety  to  perfect  her  slumbers.  It 
takes  a  thunderbolt  or  an  earthquake  to  cure  some  ail 
ments. 

The  next  morning  Dimny  found  herself  in  a  bed,  a 
German  Red  Cross  nurse  in  charge  of  her.  She  was  treated 
as  a  heroine  who  had  saved  to  the  Fatherland  an  important 
officer.  The  nurse  said  that  she  must  have  German  blood 
in  her. 

"Not  in  me,  but  on  me,"  Dimny  answered,  and  looked 

256 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

at  her  hands  that  had  been  so  bedabbled  when  last  she 
looked  at  them.  They  were  white  now.  Blood  washes  off 
so  easily. 

She  asked  when  she  might  see  Colonel  Klemm,  and  the 
nurse  answered  that  he  had  asked  for  her,  but  the  surgeon 
had  told  him  not  to  speak  or  think  for  three  days.  He 
would  certainly  not  be  permitted  to  see  any  one  for  many 
more.  Dimny  cast  up  her  eyes  in  despair. 

The  nurse  smiled  wisely.  A  romance  was  evidently  in 
full  bloom.  She  congratulated  Colonel  Klemm,  she  said, 
for  winning  the  devotion  of  such  a  brave  young  beauty — 
one  more  recruit  for  Kultur. 

Dimny  smiled  politely  at  the  irony  of  this.  Being  such 
a  heroine,  she  found  little  difficulty  in  gaining  permis 
sion  to  return  to  Brussels.  The  reason  she  gave  was  the 
satisfactory  one  that  her  clothes  were  all  there.  Her 
request  was  forwarded  to  General  von  Spahn,  who  brought 
her  in  person  her  pass.  He  said  that  he  would  recom 
mend  her  for  an  iron  cross  for  her  bravery  and  devotion. 
She  had  taken  her  place  among  the  heroines  of  Germany 
and  had  outshone  the  American  allies  of  the  Fatherland. 

Dimny  bore  up  under  this  as  best  she  could  and  ac 
cepted  the  tender  of  an  official  car  to  carry  her  to  Brussels. 
The  young  officer  who  accompanied  her  made  ardent  love 
to  her  all  the  way,  and  she  bore  that  also. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  bear  the  look  of  reproach  in 
the  eyes  of  Noll  Winsor,  who  was  waiting  for  her  when  she 
entered  the  hotel.  She  got  rid  of  her  escort,  who  kissed 
her  hands  greedily. 

Then  she  hurried  to  the  reception-room  to  explain  her 
self  to  Noll.  He  heard  her  story  out,  and  love  and  trust 
rolled  back  into  his  heart  in  a  flood  of  pride.  He  waited 
till  she  had  finished  her  chronicles,  and  then  he  warned 
her  to  control  herself  when  she  heard  his  story. 

He  broke  it  to  her  gradually  that  he  had  found  her 
mother  and  sister.  She  fought  down  the  cries  of  joy  as  if 
she  were  battling  with  an  overwhelming  grief.  She  would 
listen  to  nothing  but  an  immediate  dash  to  Louvain.  He 
was  willing  enough  to  be  coerced,  and  the  little  C.  R.  B. 
car  was  a  chariot  of  translation. 

257 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

They  went  flaming  into  the  pitiful  city  with  the  sunset, 
and  she  was  out  of  the  car  before  he  had  stopped  it  in  front 
of  the  Tudesq  home.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  beat  upon  it. 
Tiny  Philothee  opened  it,  and  Dimny  pressed  into  the 
dimly  lighted  hall,  crying:  "Mamma!  Alice!  Alice! 
Mamma!" 

Madame  Tudesq  and  Philomene  came  down  the  stairs 
in  a  flurry.  To  her  frantic  demands  they  could  only  answer : 

"They  have  gone!" 

"Where?    Where?" 

"God  knows." 

When  Dimny  realized  that  her  mother  and  her  sister  had 
fled  from  the  very  news  of  her  approach  she  was  flung 
back  to  little-girlhood  again.  She  stood  suffocated  with 
disappointment.  Then  her  breath  began  to  hurry,  to 
shuttle  into  sobs.  At  first  it  was  for  herself  that  she  felt  so 
sorry,  but  she  suddenly  understood  what  had  driven  her 
mother  away. 

That  immemorial  modesty  between  parents  and  children 
forbade  her  to  endure  the  eyes  of  her  daughter.  It  had 
been  bitter  enough  for  her  to  face  Alice,  at  first,  and  days 
had  passed  before  they  had  accepted  each  other's  glances. 
They  had  grown  used  to  each  other  eventually.  But 
Dimny  was  stranger  than  a  stranger  to  them.  They 
simply  could  not  bear  the  encounter. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

NOLL  understood  in  a  dim  and  helpless  way,  but  he 
was  still  keeping  up  the  pretense  that  he  did  not  know 
their  story.  Dimny  had  not  told  him  and  would  never 
tell  him.  In  her  daze  she  did  not  even  consider  whether 
he  knew  or  not. 

He  left  the  house  and  ran  to  his  car.  Before  he  reached 
it,  he  had  decided  that  the  one  place  to  go  was  to  the 
German  headquarters.  For  once  he  blessed  the  network 
of  sentinels  that  would  make  escape  almost  impossible. 

Yet  he  had  hardly  gone  half-way  to  the  Kommandantur 
before  he  understood  that  the  network  had  only  this  first 
advantage — that  it  was  far  easier  for  the  women  to  get 
into  the  toils  than  out.  He  realized  that  it  might  be  a 
hard  task  to  get  them  released  to  go  back  to  the  house,  to 
say  nothing  of  a  return  to  Brussels.  As  for  taking  them 
out  of  Belgium  into  Holland — that  would  be  like  trying  to 
climb  out  of  hell. 

And  then  he  realized  with  peculiar  vividness  and  horror 
how  completely  the  Germans  had  changed  the  world. 
Their  conquest  had  absolutely  annulled  all  the  familiar 
standards  of  life.  The  mighty  claims  of  justice,  mercy, 
personal  privilege  and  American  liberty  meant  just  a  little 
less  than  nothing.  Nobody  had  any  rights  as  rights,  except 
the  conqueror. 

The  only  tests  of  an  act  were :  does  it  advance  or  im 
pede  the  imperial  success?  does  it  violate  the  grammar  of 
military  efficiency?  If  it  did  not  and  the  conqueror  was  in 
an  amiable  mood,  justice  might  be  condoned.  But  to 
claim  a  right  or  a  privilege  as  such  would  be  regarded  as  a 
simple  impertinence.  Somehow  this  sacrilege  seemed  more 
infamous  to  Noll  than  all  the  other  cruelties  of  Teutonism. 
The  very  air  was  tyranny. 

2SO 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  wondered  what  excuse  the  women  could  have  given 
for  their  outrageous  effort  to  go  where  they  pleased,  to  run 
the  lines.  The  officer  of  the  guard  must  have  questioned 
them  ruthlessly.  And  now  Noll  must  approach  him  and 
haggle  with  him  for  their  liberty. 

He  remembered  Nazi  Duhr.  Nazi  Duhr  had  been  a 
loathsome  villain,  but  he  owed  the  women  a  debt  and 
acknowledged  it.  Noll  turned  his  car  aside  and  ran  it  to 
Nazi's  quarters,  found  him  there  and  told  him  a  little  of 
the  situation  and  asked  his  aid.  But  Nazi  had  been  sum 
moned  for  guard-duty.  He  had  neither  the  time  nor  the 
courage  to  approach  his  superior  officer  with  a  habeas 
corpus  for  the  two  prisoners.  He  would  only  involve  him 
self  and  accomplish  nothing.  He  was  plainly  afraid  to  call 
his  soul  his  own.  The  Germans  had  lost  their  rights  as 
individuals,  too. 

Noll  spurned  Nazi  as  more  hindrance  than  help  and  went 
on  alone  to  beard  the  commandant.  He  found  him  at  the 
H6tel  de  Ville,  which  the  vandals  had  spared  for  their  own 
convenience  in  the  scientific  destruction  that  raged  on  the 
Stunnnacht.  The  prestige  of  Noll's  authority  as  a  courier 
of  the  C.  R.  B.  gained  him  an  audience. 

He  had  no  idea  just  what  to  say,  but  the  commandant 
was  in  a  whimsical  mood  and  was  amused  to  compliment 
Noll  on  the  work  of  the  C.  R.  B.  in  feeding  Louvain.  Noll, 
fishing  for  some  reciprocal  compliments,  praised  the  excel 
lent  work  the  Germans  had  done  in  restoring  Louvain. 
After  a  proper  while  of  small-talk,  Noll  was  inspired  to  a 
careless : 

"By  the  way,  I  hope  your  guards  have  taken  up  two 
unfortunate  women  who  escaped  from  their  home." 

The  major  had  not  heard  of  it.  He  sent  an  orderly  to 
inquire.  Noll  filled  the  interim  with  diplomatic  blarney 
on  the  perfection  of  the  German  system.  The  orderly 
came  back  to  say  that  two  women  had  indeed  been  brought 
in  by  a  sentinel.  They  would  not  give  an  account  of 
themselves. 

Noll  tapped  his  head  significantly  and  pleaded:  "Major, 
they  should  not  have  been  permitted  to  escape.  They 
ought  not  to  be  left  in  a  cell  all  night.  They  may  grow 

260 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

noisy.     Commit  them  to  my  care.     I'll  go  bail  for  them, 
take  them  off  your  hands  and  restore  them  to  their  home." 

The  major  reluctantly  consented  and  gave  Noll  passes 
for  the  two  women.  Noll  hurried  down  into  the  cell 
block  and  confronted  them  in  forlorn  estate.  They  were 
so  terrified  at  being  in  the  clutches  of  the  soldiery  again 
that  they  welcomed  him  with  all  the  joy  their  wretched 
souls  were  capable  of. 

When,  however,  he  asked  them  to  go  back  to  the  house 
with  him,  they  shook  their  heads. 

"But  you  can't  stay  here  forever,"  he  urged.  "What 
do  you  want  to  do?" 

"I  want  to  die,"  the  mother  groaned. 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Alice. 

Noll  stared  at  them  in  amazement  and  unconsciously 
plagiarized  from  Epaminondas  when  he  groaned,  "O  my 
God,  to  think  that  in  days  like  these  when  every  man  and 
woman  is  so  desperately  needed  anybody  could  be  found 
with  time  and  selfishness  enough  to  die." 

"But  the  world  is  such  a  hateful  place;  there  is  so  much 
sorrow,"  Alice  sighed. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  Noll  pleaded,  more  for  Dimny's 
sake  than  the  world's.  "  But  don't  you  know  the  old  poem 
of  the  two  nuns  who  saw  how  sad  the  world  was,  and  one 
of  them  sank  down  and  wept  with  sympathy,  but  the  other 
one  laughed  and  worked  because  the  world  needed  help 
and  comfort?" 

He  mixed  his  quotation  hopelessly,  but  it  served  to  rouse 
a  little  interest  in  those  jaded  hearts,  enough  at  least  for  a 
protesting  question : 

"But  what  could  we  do?" 

"  There  are  a  thousand  things  to  do  right  here  in  Louvain, 
and  ten  thousand  in  Brussels.  There  are  children  starving 
and  freezing,  and  mothers  and  old  crippled  men  and 
wounded  workmen  and  overworked  ladies  trying  to  do  more 
than  they  can.  You  can  ladle  out  soup,  and  make  bread 
or  cut  it  up  and  distribute  it.  You  can  make  clothes,  can't 
you?" 

Their  eyes  brightened  a  little  at  this,  but  he  jumped  to 
his  real  argument : 

261 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"And  first  of  all,  you  can  mend  the  broken  heart  of  your 
daughter." 

That  went  home.  Mrs.  Parcot  moaned :  "We  ran  away 
from  her  to  spare  her.  It  would  kill  her  to  see  us  now." 

"Kill  her  to  see  you?  Hasn't  she  hunted  the  world 
over  for  you?  Has  she  anything  else  on  earth  to  live  for? 
Haven't  I  heard  her  crying  all  night  long  for  you?" 

They  began  to  cry  for  her.  They  had  wept  well  and 
long  for  Dimny  when  she  had  been  as  one  beautifully  dead. 
But  now  she  had  become  alive  again.  She  was  in  the  same 
town,  eager,  real.  She  had  come  down  into  the  pit  to 
find  them.  She  had  defied  or  wheedled  the  keepers  of  the 
gates  or  had  sung  her  way  through.  She  was  in  hell 
beckoning  to  them  to  return  to  the  upper  air. 

There  was  no  resisting  this  vision  of  her.  They  argued 
no  more,  but  clamored  to  be  taken  immediately  home. 
The  little  shack  of  the  Tudesqs  had  earned  from  them  that 
name.  As  Noll  hurried  them  past  the  sentinels  they  were 
showering  questions — silly,  loving,  lovable  queries:  "Is 
she  well?  Has  she  changed?  Is  she  pretty  yet?  Does 
she  know  we  ran  away?  When  did  she  get  to  Belgium?" 

They  forgot  even  to  wonder  who  Noll  was  or  to  ask  him 
how  he  came  to  know  Dimny  and  how  well  he  knew  her. 
The  condemned  suddenly  released  are  not  interested  much 
in  the  turnkey  who  unlocks  the  cell  door  or  the  messenger 
who  brings  the  reprieve. 

Arriving  at  the  Tudesq  home,  Noll  helped  them  out  with 
care  and  watched  them  hurry  to  the  familiar  door.  He  did 
not  follow  them.  He  saw  that  the  door  was  already  opened. 
He  heard  Dimny  cry  out  in  an  anguish  of  welcome.  He 
saw  a  smother  of  embraces  and  a  struggle  of  love  with 
love  for  its  prey.  The  forgotten  door  stood  ajar  till  the 
child  Philoth£e  appeared  to  close  it.  She  saw  Noll  at 
the  curb  and  motioned  him  in  with  a  curling  forefinger. 

But  he  shook  his  head.  She  ran  out  and  seized  his 
hand  and  tugged  at  him.  She  understood  that  he  was  the 
real  Santa  Claus  in  this  Christmas,  and  called  him  "Le  Pet-it 
Noel,"  but  he  only  knew  he  was  out  of  place  in  that  home. 

He  bent  down  and  asked  Philoth6e  to  tell  her  mother 
that  he  was  going  to  put  his  car  to  bed  for  the  night  and 

262 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

find  himself  a  hotel,  and  that  he  would  "venir  ongcore  don 
lah  mattang." 

Philothe'e  made  a  guess  at  what  tnat  meant  and  watched 
him  drive  away.  He  was  one  American  who  had  come  to 
Louvain  to  some  purpose.  He  was  her  first  romance,  her 
first  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  And  if  ever  there 
were  knights  errant  of  irreproachable  chivalry,  those  young 
Americans  who  rode  about  Belgium  in  their  thirty-Rosin- 
ante-power  motors  certainly  belonged  on  the  beadroll. 

Noll,  however,  felt  only  that  in  solving  the  first  great 
problem  of  the  reunion  of  the  Parcots  he  had  made  himself 
responsible  for  the  solving  of  a  multitude  of  new  problems. 
He  thanked  God,  though,  that  his  Dimny  had  her  people  at 
last,  and  he  fell  asleep  in  his  bed  at  the  inn  with  a  weary 
smile.  He  dreamed  of  his  own  mother  thousands  of  miles 
away.  He  dreamed  that  she  came  into  his  room  and 
tucked  in  the  covers  and  kissed  him  softly  to  seal  his 
slumbers. 

He  woke  and  sat  up  and  reached  out  for  her,  murmuring 
drowsily  the  name  he  had  used  to  call  her  by — ' '  Mutter chen ' ' 
— in  those  ancient  times  when  German  words  of  tenderness 
meant  tenderness. 

He  wondered  what  had  become  of  that  vaguely  remem 
bered  world  where  mother-sentinels  were  anxious  to  make 
sure  that  their  sons  slept  warm,  where  people  sang  German 
songs  and  gave  German  toys  to  children. 

He  wondered  drowsily  whether  the  war  were  not  merely 
a  nightmare.  He  rose  and  ran  shivering  to  the  window  to 
see  if  it  were  not  Carthage  outside  and  if  the  old  trees 
were  not  asleep  there  along  the  front  yard. 

But  he  looked  on  a  mourning  wilderness  of  shattered 
homes  and  shops,  a  ruined  cathedral,  a  tumbled  library, 
sepulchers  whited  with  moonlight. 

He  ran  back  to  his  sparse  covers  and  shivered,  trying  to 
warm  himself  with  the  thought,  "Praise  God,  it  can't  last 
much  longer!"  In  a  few  days  it  would  be  February  of 
1915,  and  the  war  would  have  lasted  for  six  horrible  months. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THERE  was  little  sleep  that  night  in  the  home  on  the 
Rue  des  Joyeuses  Entries.  But  the  street  seemed  to 
deserve  its  name  again  when  it  reunited  that  tortured 
family. 

When  Dimny  was  enfolded  in  her  mother's  arms  and 
her  sister's,  and  enfolded  them  in  hers  in  a  combat  of  vying 
devotions,  the  hallway  was  so  dark  that  their  embraces 
were  almost  ghostly.  Their  souls  embraced  with  no  help 
of  the  eyes.  They  crowded  the  narrow  hall,  all  three 
talking  at  once,  struggling  and  seizing  again  one  from  the 
other  in  a  folly  of  joy,  sobbing,  then  laughing,  then  both 
at  once. 

But  when  at  length  Madame  Tudesq  ventured  to  urge 
them  to  come  into  the  living-room  where  there  was  a  light, 
she  threw  a  pall  upon  the  carnival.  Dimny 's  mother 
gasped: 

"No,  no,  not  in  the  light.     I  hate  the  light." 

And  then  she  fell  to  weeping  madly.  She  dreaded  the 
eyes  of  her  daughter,  she  cowered  before  the  thought  of 
them  as  if  she  were  herself  a  young  girl  coming  home  in 
shame  to  face  her  mother. 

It  was  the  daughter  who  must  uphold  the  mother  in  this 
crisis.  Dimny  said  what  she  could,  but  said  most  with 
inarticulate  murmurs  and  the  clenching  of  arms. 

But  they  stood  in  the  hall  till  Philomene  was  inspired 
to  ask  if  she  might  borrow  the  lamp  and  took  it  to  the 
kitchen. 

Then  the  three  found  chairs,  drew  them  close  and  sat 
with  hands  knit.  There  was  a  little  charcoal -stove  and  it 
gave  a  certain  glow  upward  and  that  sketched  out  as  in 
red  chalk  on  a  black  paper  the  outlines  of  beloved  features, 
made  tears  glisten,  and  traced  in  crimson  the  curve  of  a 

364 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

tenderness  in  a  smiling  cheek  and  mouth.     It  dimly  re- 
acquainted  them  with  one  another. 

And  there  they  sat  for  hours  telling  their  epics.  Epics 
had  been  every-day  affairs  of  late,  for  what,  indeed,  had 
Ulysses  or  ^Eneas  to  recount,  or  Andromache  or  Dido, 
more  wonderful ,  more  horrible  than  their  history  ?  Lou  vain 
was  Troy  and  it  fell.  Dimny  was  farther-traveled  than 
Odysseus  or  his  son  Telemachus  that  hunted  for  him.  She 
had  seen  the  Circe  of  ambition  turn  a  whole  nation  into 
swine.  Even  now  that  her  family  was  reunited,  it  had 
met  in  the  perilous  cave  of  the  Cyclops.  Scylla  and 
Charybdis  were  yet  to  pass. 

But  the  first  adventures  were  finished.  The  fall  of 
Louvain  and  the  sack  had  been  accomplished. 

There  remained  the  achievement  of  a  return  to  Ithaca 
across  the  seas. 

They  wore  themselves  out  with  tragic  gossip,  and  drowsi 
ness  oppressed  them  till  no  other  pang  of  memory  or 
prophesy  equaled  the  pain  of  keeping  awake. 

Alice  and  her  mother  had  occupied  one  bed  in  the  little 
cabin  of  the  Tudesqs.  They  were  glad  to  make  room  for 
the  slender  Dimny.  They  did  not  want  to  be  parted  even 
in  sleep. 

Dimny  lay  between  them  and  they  rested  as  peacefully, 
as  perfectly,  as  three  recumbent  figures  on  a  tomb. 

In  the  morning  gray,  Dimny  woke  and  stirred  and  could 
not  understand  the  ceiling  nor  the  room  at  first.  When 
she  realized,  she  felt  strangely  happy.  Then  she  saw  her 
mother  and  sister  plainly  now  for  the  first  time.  She 
studied  them  and  saw  what  tribute  experience  had  taken 
from  the  beauty  they  had  had  before.  But  they  were 
more  beautiful,  somehow,  now,  wounded  veterans  en 
nobled  by  their  defeat. 

She  could  not  help  kissing  their  hands,  her  mother's 
drooping  on  her  breast,  and  Alice's  resting  against  her  wan 
cheek. 

The  soft  touch  of  her  lips  woke  them.     They  stared  and 
understood  and  hid  their  eyes  beneath  their  arms  and  drew 
the  sheet  over  their  faces  as  if  they  gave  themselves  up 
for  dead.     But  Dimny  cried  out  against  this  repulse. 
18  265 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"  Don't  hide  from  me.  I've  found  you  now.  Don't  run 
away  again." 

They  looked  into  her  eyes  and  saw  that  the  scales  had 
fallen  from  them.  She  had  joined  them  outside  Eden. 

And  that  bitterness  had  such  sweet,  that  sleep  resumed 
its  sway.  They  slept  on  and  on,  heedless  of  the  noises  in 
the  street  and  in  the  house.  And  the  Tudesqs  tiptoed 
about,  rejoicing  in  the  silence  of  that  room,  knowing  that 
they  are  not  entirely  cursed  who  can  sleep. 

They  had  not  yet  wakened  when  Noll  drove  up  to  the 
house  in  his  car.  Philothe'e  came  out  stealthily  with  her 
fingers  to  her  lips  and  told  him  to  hush  his  automobile,  for 
those  ladies  slept  still. 

When  at  last  they  woke  they  tried  to  make  merry  over 
their  strait  quarters  and  pretend  to  be  at  home  in  their 
Spartan  regimen,  with  its  breakfastless  breakfast.  Yet, 
while  the  novelty  had  gone  from  their  reunion,  their  prob 
lems  were  as  new  as  ever.  They  were  marooned  upon  a 
coral  reef.  When  Dimny  spoke  of  going  back  to  America, 
they  shook  their  heads.  She  was  appalled  at  this  unfore 
seen  obstacle.  She  said  that  they  could  argue  it  out  in 
Brussels.  They  consented  to  go  that  far  only  because 
she  threatened  to  leave  them  if  they  refused.  They 
set  about  packing  their  few  belongings  while  Noll  was 
on  his  way  to  the  Kommandantur  to  arrange  for  their 
traveling  -  papers.  He  had  only  to  explain  that  Miss 
Parcot  who  had  been  so  heroic  in  saving  the  life  of 
the  Herr  Oberstleutnant  Klemm  had  come  to  Belgium 
to  find  her  mother  and  sister  and  had  found  them,  but 
in  poor  health. 

The  officer  gave  his  consent  with  much  bowing  and 
scraping,  and  the  necessary  papers  of  identity  and  per 
mission  to  travel  by  the  Lou  vain-Brussels  road  were  made 
out  with  despatch. 

Parting  with  the  Tudesqs  was  a  grievous  task.  Noll 
tried  to  ease  the  farewells  by  asking  them  to  come  to 
America,  where  they  would  be  safe  and  happy.  Mrs. 
Parcot  could  not  forbear  interposing: 

"  To  America  ?     Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  America  ?" 

"I  did.     Aren't  you?" 

266 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"  Never  I  We  shall  come  back  to  Louvain  when  the  war 
is  over — if  we  live.  But  to  America — never!" 

Noll  did  not  attempt  to  debate  this  point.  A  look  from 
Dimny  cautioned  him  to  silence.  After  many  embraces, 
kisses,  tears,  the  farewells  were  said  and  the  car  set  out  for 
Brussels.  Little  Philothee's  shrill  voice  followed  it  shrilly. 

"What's  that  she's  singing,"  Noll  asked,  "the  'Mar- 
selyase'?" 

'"The  Stair-spengle  Bennair,'  "  said  Alice. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHEN  Lieutenant-Colonel  Klemm  had  first  returned 
to  consciousness  after  the  bomb  from  the  airship 
felled  him  he  had  found  himself  a  howling  wilderness  of 
pains  and  confusions.  It  was  a  fearful  shock  to  learn 
that  one  of  his  arms  was  gone  and  that  he  would  join  the 
ranks  of  the  empty-sleeves,  with  his  cuff  pinned  to  his 
breast.  The  ghost  of  that  arm  would  not  leave  him.  It 
was  like  the  spirit  of  a  mother's  dead  baby  whose  head  still 
makes  her  bosom  ache. 

His  bewildered  brain  kept  sending  messages  to  that 
departed  hand,  those  deserter  fingers,  the  skilful  agents 
that  would  never  work  for  him  again.  Napoleon  was  call 
ing  for  Grouchy's  regiments  to  serve  him  at  Waterloo,  but 
these  reinforcements  would  never  come  up.  Klemm  had 
lost  a  part  of  his  machinery,  a  part  of  his  equipment  of 
soul,  a  part  of  himself. 

Klemm  had  another  torment.  His  memory  vividly  re 
called  the  last  hour  with  Dimny  in  the  chateau,  the  song 
he  had  sung,  her  sudden  reproach  of  German  music,  then 
the  excitement  over  the  visit  of  the  hovering  hostile  man- 
bird  and  finally  the  coming  of  the  world  to  an  end  in  the 
crash  of  the  bomb. 

His  nurse  told  him  what  she  had  been  told  of  the  heroism 
of  the  young  American  lady  who  had  saved  his  life.  The 
story  grew,  she  added  any  number  of  picturesque  details, 
among  them  a  pretty  poesy  to  the  effect  that  the  Kaiser 
would  undoubtedly  pin  an  iron  cross  on  her  young  bosom 
with  his  own  hand. 

She  celebrated  the  uncanny  ingenuity  of  the  makers  of 
artificial  limbs.  They  made  hands  nowadays  that  could 
almost  think. 

Klemm  was  not  ready  for  such  talk.  It  was  but  water 

268 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

on  blazing  oil.  He  was  enraged  at  Fate — Fate,  the  sneak 
ing  secret  spy  that  had  stabbed  him  in  the  back.  He  was 
softened  only  by  a  most  tender  and  melting  pity  that 
would  have  been  divinely  beautiful  if  he  had  ever  felt  it  for 
any  one  but  himself. 

He  marveled  at  the  story  of  Dimny's  devotion  to  him. 
Why  had  she  saved  his  life  ?  Where  had  she  found  strength 
to  be  so  brave  unless  she  had  loved  him? 

Yet  if  she  loved  him  why  did  she  not  come  back?  He 
could  understand  her  desire  to  return  to  Brussels  for  her 
clothes;  doubtless  she  wanted  to  be  beautiful  and  neat 
and  varied  in  his  eyes. 

But  why  did  she  not  come  back? 

He  lay  there  tossing,  fretting,  picking  at  his  bandages  like 
another  Tristan  moaning  for  his  Isolde.  Instead  of  keeping 
a  shepherd  at  watch  from  a  cliff  for  the  advent  of  her  sail 
on  the  horizon,  he  was  incessantly  sending  the  nurse  to  the 
window  to  see  if  Dimny's  automobile  were  not  in  sight. 
Every  motor  that  roared  up  to  the  hospital  filled  his  mind 
with  hope.  But  Dimny  came  not  back. 

The  telegrams  to  Brussels  were  answered  by  the  state 
ment  that  she  had  left  the  Palace  Hotel  for  parts  unknown. 
A  search  was  ordered;  at  least  it  was  put  on  the  file. 
Now  that  Klemm  was  helpless,  maimed,  and  useless,  his 
requisitions  lacked  authority.  They  had  no  more  impor 
tance  than  the  pleas  of  starving  Belgians  or  Poles  for  bread. 
They  must  take  their  turn  and  follow  the  sacred  rules. 

If  Klemm  had  been  himself  and  had  sent  out  word  to 
find  Dimny  in  order  to  shoot  her  she  would  have  been 
found.  But  she  was  only  a  heroine  now  and  Klemm  a 
nuisance  howling  for  her. 

He  could  not  make  Dimny  out.  If  she  were  a  spy,  as 
he  had  believed,  then  why  had  she  saved  his  life?  In  his 
vain  hours  he  decided  that  it  was  because  she  loved  him. 
In  his  relapses  to  gloom  he  decided  that  it  was  merely  a 
ruse  to  cast  suspicion  from  herself  and  to  make  sure  of 
kind  treatment  by  the  other  officers. 

If  she  were  a  spy  it  was  his  duty  to  surrender  her  case 
to  his  successor.  Before  he  saw  this  man  or  knew  who 
he  was  Klemm  wanted  to  poison  him. 

269 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

When  this  successor  came  to  call  on  him  he  proved  to  be 
Lieutenant  von  Trieger.  Klemm  gazed  on  the  lieutenant 
with  contempt.  He  despised  him  for  a  spy  and  a  spy- 
chaser.  The  fingers  of  his  lost  hand  ached  and  twitched 
to  take  him  by  the  throat  and  hold  him  fast  while  his 
right  hand  pummeled  that  sneaky  face  as  he  had  buffeted 
Colonel  von  Repsold. 

After  discussing  many  matters,  von  Trieger  said  that 
among  the  memoranda  on  Klemm's  desk  he  had  found 
the  name  of  a  Dimny  Parcot.  What  of  her? 

Klemm  said  that  Miss  Parcot  was  under  surveillance  only. 
She  had  withstood  every  test.  Lieutenant  von  Trieger 
asked  if  Klemm  had  read  the  letter  concerning  the  little 
unpleasantness  at  Dofnay.  Klemm  said  that  he  knew  of 
it  and  had  sent  for  it  but  had  not  seen  it.  He  only  knew 
that  the  first  copy  had  been  lost  and  the  second  not  re 
ceived  before  he  left  Brussels.  Von  Trieger  explained  that 
it  had  come  in  since.  He  gave  Klemm  a  carbon  of  the 
original.  Now  at  last  Klemm  had  the  truth  of  the  matter. 
He  was  stunned  at  realizing  his  own  mistake.  If  he  had 
been  his  complete  self  he  would  have  made  Dimny  pay  well 
for  his  self-deception. 

But  with  a  sick  man's  perversity  he  took  more  pleasure 
in  thwarting  his  successor.  He  told  von  Trieger  that  he 
had  read  the  letter,  after  all,  and  forgotten  it  because  of 
its  unimportance.  Von  Trieger  was  deceived.  To  him 
Dimny  was  only  one  of  countless  suspects.  He  had  more 
than  he  could  take  care  of.  He  was  glad  to  be  relieved  of 
her. 

So  Dimny  was  safe  so  far  as  von  Trieger  was  concerned, 
and  Klemm  was  in  no  position  to  punish  her  now. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  was  bound  to  remain  in  Belgium 
for  some  time  to  come,  since  her  mother  and  sister  refused 
to  go  back  to  America,  refused  so  frantically  that  she 
forbore  to  discuss  the  question. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

WHEN  Dimny  and  her  people  and  Noll  rode  at  last 
into  Brussels,  Dimny  objected  to  re-establishing 
herself  at  the  Palace  Hotel. 

At  the  C.  R.  B.  office  Noll  learned  of  a  family  dwelling 
in  a  fine  old  residence,  a  family  once  wealthy  and  fashion 
able,  now  impoverished. 

The  Erkelens  were  glad  enough  to  take  the  Parcots  in 
and  to  make  a  community  of  resources.  Food  was  scarce 
and  costly.  The  old  grandmother  had  been  shot  in  the 
knee  while  running  through  the  streets  of  Malines.  She 
kept  the  house  and  made  lace  all  day  long — pillow-lace  of 
the  Valenciennes  pattern,  called  "the  eternal"  because  a 
yard  of  it  required  at  least  two  years  of  unrelenting  toil. 
This  old  spider  made  no  such  progress,  though  her  old 
fingers  shuffled  the  bobbins  with  such  relentless  monotony 
that  Dimny  could  hardly  endure  to  watch  her.  This 
grandam  was  one  of  the  fifteen  thousand  lace-workers  whose 
art  was  saved  to  the  world  by  the  C.  R.  B. 

The  youngest  daughter  made  toys,  the  eldest  distributed 
the  repas  scolaire  to  school-children.  The  middle  daughter 
went  among  the  "ashamed  poor."  The  mother  sewed 
clothes  for  the  layettes  of  new  babies.  She  and  a  countess 
or  two  and  four  hundred  telephone-girls  worked  in  the  same 
great  room. 

The  money  still  remaining  to  Mrs.  Parcot  and  the  money 
Dimny  had,  as  well  as  the  two  diamond  rings  she  had 
brought  with  her,  promised  to  keep  the  whole  household 
from  starving  for  some  time  yet.  But  the  future  was  not 
bright  and  the  one  hope  was  that  the  war  would  be  brief. 
Mrs.  Parcot  had  left  some  funds  in  a  bank  in  California. 
She  decided  to  send  for  the  amount  and  wrote  a  formal 

271 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

letter  giving  her  address  in  care  of  the  C.  R.  B.,  to  assure 
and  facilitate  the  transfer. 

Dimny  found  a  job  on  the  staff  of  the  C.  R.  B.  Alice  and 
her  mother  stayed  within-doors,  earning  a  little  money  and 
much  nepenthe  in  the  task  of  making  garments  for  children, 
from  scraps  of  cloth. 

Of  evenings,  when  the  family  gathered  together,  their 
dissipation  was  the  embroidery  of  flour-sacks  brought  over 
in  the  flour-ship  sent  by  the  North  American  Miller  loaded 
with  the  gift  of  the  flour-men  of  America. 

It  pleased  the  Belgian  women  to  use  the  more  or  less 
crude  labels  on  these  sacks  as  designs  for  embroidery  in 
colored  threads,  and  they  wrote  in  with  their  needles  little 
legends  of  gratitude  to  America. 

In  such  a  home  the  Parcots  gradually  found  themselves 
at  home,  and  existence  fell  into  a  routine  as  regular  as  the 
path  of  the  hands  on  the  great  oh-face  of  the  old  clock. 

Noll  saw  little  of  Dimny,  for  his  car  with  its  fluttering 
white  flag  was  wearing  itself  out  in  the  service  of  the 
C.  R.  B.,  darting  here  and  there  from  village  to  village, 
along  the  canals,  and  in  and  out  of  Holland.  When  he 
could  find  the  time,  he  courted  Dimny.  He  never  saw 
Alice  or  Mrs.  Parcot.  They  never  went  out,  yet  never  were 
in. 

Now  and  then  Noll  took  Dimny  to  a  moving-picture 
show  or  for  a  ride  in  his  car.  Now  and  then  they  sat  and 
talked  in  the  cold  salon.  Yet  Noll  feared  to  say  the  definite 
word,  though  his  longing  for  Dimny  gnawed  his  heart 
incessantly.  One  evening,  however,  when  the  salon  was 
cold  and  the  candles  swayed  drearier  than  of  wont,  and  the 
Germans  had  been  unusually  insolent  with  a  new  victory, 
it  seemed  to  Noll  that  he  must  draw  closer  to  Dimny  in  fact 
as  in  theory. 

He  moved  over  and  sat  on  the  little  spindly  settle  where 
she  shivered  slimly.  His  approach  was  ominous,  but  not 
in  itself  a  cause  for  reproach.  She  could  only  wait,  as 
women  must,  for  the  opening  of  familiarities. 

Noll's  foolish  babble  revealed  his  excitement.  The  in 
consequence  of  his  talk  betrayed  the  importance  of  his 
emotions,  and  finally,  as  young  men  have  always  done 

272 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

sublimely  and  ridiculously,  he  forwarded  his  arm,  bent  it 
round  her  waist,  and  drew  himself  close. 

A  dark  look  of  pain  and  of  repugnance  shaded  her  face, 
her  fingers  undamped  his  hands  and  swung  his  arm  back 
like  an  opened  gyve.  When  he  tried  again,  as  a  brave  man 
must,  she  rose  and  moved  to  another  chair.  Her  grimness 
was  more  final  than  any  hysteria  could  have  been.  She 
seemed  to  be  struggling  with  a  sick  dread  rather  than  with 
any  offended  dignity  or  modesty  or  delicacy. 

Noll  was  afraid  to  follow  her  and  afraid  not  to.  He  was 
troubled  by  the  primeval  fear  a  man  feels  lest  a  woman  ex 
pect  prowess  of  him  instead  of  mercy.  He  rose  to  approach 
Dimny  again.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  hoarsely  muttered, 
so  as  not  to  be  heard  in  the  next  room : 

"Don't  ever  come  near  me  like  that  again — never!" 

Noll  dropped  back  to  his  place,  crushed. 

"I'm — I'm  sorry  I'm  so — hateful  to  you." 

"You're  not  hateful,"  she  groaned.  "It's  not  you  I 
hate  but — I  don't  know  how  to  say  it — that  embracing  and 
caressing  business.  Never  try  it  again  if  you  care  for  my — 
my —  She  was  going  to  say  "friendship,"  but  it  was  too 
stingy  for  what  she  felt  for  him,  so  she  stumbled  into 
"affection." 

That  word  startled  him  by  its  unexpectedness  and  its 
warmth.  It  gave  him  courage  to  plead. 

"If  you  really  felt  affection  for  me,  Dimny,  you'd  want 
me  to — to — be  near  you." 

It  is  strange  how  difficult  love-words  are  in  the  half 
way  spaces  between  indifference  and  ardor.  Dimny  shook 
her  distractingly  beautiful  head. 

"But  I  do  like  you !   I — the  fact  is — I  love  you,  Noll  dear." 

His  heart  leaped  at  that,  and  he  sprang  to  her  side 
with  a  little  cry  of  triumph  and  rapture,  but  she  shuddered 
from  him  with  revulsion. 

He  retreated  in  terror  of  her  terror.  She  sat  twisting 
her  hands,  rubbing  her  forearms  and  writhing  in  a  nausea. 

"  If  that's  necessary  to  love,  I  loathe  love.  I've  seen  too 
much.  My  sister  told  me  that  those  German  soldiers — 
they  made  love  to  her,  caressed  her,  kissed  her,  called  her 
pet  names;  and  my  mother,  too,  and — and — the  thought 

273 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

of  it  makes  me  die.    Can  you  understand  ?    Of  course  you 
can't,  but — " 

"I  understand,"  Noll  replied.  And  now  he  wanted  to 
caress  her  in  pity  and  lay  his  hands  on  her  hallowingly; 
but  he  could  not  attempt  that,  either,  for  the  touch  was  the 
dreaded  thing.  His  hands  kept  each  other  prisoner,  and 
he  stared  at  her  across  an  abyss. 

She  saw  his  anguish  and  she  said:  "You'd  better  go 
away  and  forget  me.  I'm  no  use  to  you.  We  Parcots  are 
cursed.  Don't  think  of  us  any  more.  You've  done  every 
thing  that  could  be  done  or  can  be  done.  We're  not  worth 
any  more  trouble.  I  can't  bear  to  bother  you  any  longer." 

This  sent  him  into  a  frenzy.  "  But  I  want  to  be  with  you. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  whenever  you'll  let  me.  I'll  promise 
not  to  annoy  you,  if  you'll  only  let  us  go  on  being  what  we 
have  been  to  each  other.  It's  enough.  It's  all  I  ask." 

"If  that's  true,  then  it  would  be  terribly  precious  to  me 
to  have  you  near  me.  You  mustn't  think  I  don't  care 
for  you.  You're  all  there  is  in  life  that  gives  me  any  joy  or 
strength  or  comfort.  I'm  horribly  sorry  and  ashamed 
that  I  can't  love  you  as  you  ought  to  be  loved,  but  I've 
been  through  just  a  little  too  much." 

He  sat  in  misery  till  she  had  sobbed  herself  out.  Then 
she  looked  up,  with  a  smile  among  her  tears  like  a  rainbow. 
She  smiled,  not  because  she  was  happy,  but  because  she 
was  brave  again  and  our  muscles  have  too  few  expressions 
for  our  too  many  emotions. 

We  must  smile  when  our  hearts  are  in  most  pitiful  case. 
We  have  nothing  but  a  kiss  for  ever  so  many  unamorous 
communications.  She  had  to  smile  to  tell  him  that  her 
weeping  was  done.  But  he  could  not  kiss  her  to  tell  her 
that  he  would  not  kiss  her. 

They  tried  to  talk  of  less  personal  topics,  but  there  come 
times  in  lives,  as  in  plays,  when  the  curtain  must  be  lowered 
for  a  while.  So  Noll  took  his  leave,  and  they  shook  hands 
sadly  at  the  door,  she  on  the  sill,  he  one  step  below. 

The  German  sentinel  plodding  by  with  a  burden  of  snow 
on  his  shoulders  thought  their  parting  casual  and  formal, 
though  their  hearts  beat  like  Romeo's  and  Juliet's  making 
a  litany  of  farewells  over  the  ledge  of  a  moonlit  balcony. 

274 


CHAPTER  XLII 

MONTHS  drifted  by  with  alternate  sun  and  storm. 
History  tottered  from  one  cataclysm  to  another. 

The  Germans  dared  to  publish  in  American  newspapers 
an  advertisement  warning  Americans  not  to  take  passage 
on  the  Lusitania.  They  dared  even  to  send  a  false  wireless 
message  and  lure  the  ship  into  a  trap  and  sink  her  without 
warning,  with  the  massacre  of  more  than  a  thousand  men 
and  women  and  children,  more  than  a  hundred  of  them 
Americans. 

Banquets  were  held  to  celebrate  the  German  triumph. 
A  medal  was  struck  in  honor  of  the  assassins  and  German 
preachers  thanked  their  bloody  God  for  his  favor. 

The  Americans  in  Belgium  said,  "This  brings  us  in!" 

They  made  ready  for  the  bugle-call  to  action.  But  the 
bugle  did  not  blow.  German  diplomacy  by  hypocritical 
regrets  and  lying  promises  checked  the  drawing  of  the 
sword.  The  crisis  passed.  The  unforgotten  innocents  still 
waited  in  the  seas  for  the  day  of  vengeance. 

While  time  in  its  passage  wrought  in  history  so  many 
unheard-of  things,  it  wrought  in  nature  its  immemorial 
processes.  Spring  came  to  Belgium  and  brought  the  flowers 
from  the  ground  where  the  shells  plunged ;  the  birds  nested 
and  sang  and  wed  in  what  branches  the  shrapnel  spared. 
The  breezes  of  May  wandered  across  the  trenches  and 
played  with  the  smoke  of  battle  or  bore  along  the  blinding 
choking  clouds  of  gas  as  if  they  were  incense. 

And  in  the  bodies  of  women  the  seeds  of  love  or  of  its 
counterpart  grew  to  fruition.  And  so  for  Alice  Parcot  and 
her  mother  a  grim  period  came  to  the  long  sentence.  They 
were  called  to  go  down  once  more  into  hell. 

As  their  hour  approached  they  felt  tremors  of  the  in 
veterate  fear,  but  far  more  since  they  hated  the  fruit  they 

275 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

must  bear.  Their  weddings  had  been  without  wooing, 
without  choice,  without  ceremony.  They  had  been  com 
pelled  to  a  polyandrous  union  on  a  hideous  Brocken- 
Sabbath,  on  that  peculiarly  German  festival  of  obscene 
matings  which  Goethe  celebrated  with  such  fervor.  How 
eloquent  a  nation's  legends  are!  The  Germans  had  merely 
brought  their  traditions  to  life  again.  The  Wilde  Jagd  had 
raged  across  Belgium  and  France  and  the  Walpurgis  Nacht 
had  forced  upon  the  helpless  nations  uncounted  brats  con 
ceived  in  horror. 

Mrs.  Parcot  and  Alice,  among  their  other  tortures, 
underwent  agonies  of  temptation  to  self-destruction.  But 
while  some  natures  have  an  inclination  to  slay  themselves 
or  others  in  supreme  moments,  the  most  of  us  are  as  in 
capable  of  suicide  as  of  murder. 

Nazi  Duhr  had  quietly  put  an  end  to  his  remorse,  fearing 
death  less  than  life.  But  Alice  and  her  mother,  fearing 
life  more  than  death,  could  not  take  up  arms  against  their 
sea  of  troubles  and,  by  opposing,  end  them. 

It  was  still  possible  that  accident  might  bring  the  solu 
tion  that  intention  could  not  seize.  They  might  die,  as  so 
many  cherished  wives  had  died  and  shall  always  die.  Their 
children  might  be  born  still,  or  might  be  hushed  after  the 
first  feeble  wails,  as  so  many  longed-for  children  have  been 
and  shall  be  thrust  back  into  the  silences;  longed-for  chil 
dren,  heirs  to  thrones  they  might  have  saved,  heirs  to 
wealth  or  love  that  waited  for  them. 

But  if  Providence  had  wished  to  solve  their  riddles  so, 
Providence  could  have  intervened  long  before.  Ill- 
nourished,  despondent,  and  terrified,  they  marched  on  to 
their  goal. 

They  shunned  the  presence  of  Dimny  toward  the  last, 
for  humanity  so  worships  innocence  that  it  will  dupevit 
while  it  can  and  pretend  when  deceit  is  no  longer  possible. 
They  wanted  Dimny  not  to  seem  to  know.  They  wanted 
to  think  of  her  in  the  words  of  Habakkuk,  "Thou  art  of 
purer  eyes  than  to  behold  evil." 

And  she,  understanding  their  shame,  humored  it  and 
kept  up  the  pretense.  And  Noll  played  his  part,  though 
he  managed,  with  a  shy  subtlety  that  Dimny  recognized 

276 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  dared  not  thank,  to  arrange  for  a  physician  and  a 
nurse  to  be  sent  them,  that  they  might  be  saved  from  the 
crowded  cantines  thronged  with  expectant  mothers. 

The  two  women  could  no  more  tell  what  their  children 
would  be  nor  when  they  would  arrive  than  who  their 
fathers  were.  But  as  it  chanced,  Mrs.  Parcot's  child  was 
the  earlier,  and  it  was  a  girl.  In  her  stupor,  at  the  first  cry 
she  heard,  she  imagined  herself  her  husband's  wife  again. 
She  put  out  her  arms  for  this  baby  as  for  her  others. 

She  gave  it  the  first  bitter  milk  of  maternity  and  lifted 
pain-fogged  eyes  to  murmur,  "Stephen!" 

That  was  the  name  of  her  husband.  That  was  the  name 
she  had  breathed  when  her  other  children  had  been  born. 
He  had  always  been  near,  suffering  with  her,  lending  her 
strength  from  his  love  and  his  hope. 

When  she  realized  that  her  husband  was  afar,  that  this 
changeling  was  not  his,  she  cried  out,  "Why  should  this 
happen  to  him?" 

She  forgot  herself  so  utterly  that  she  had  no  power  even 
then  to  blame  him  for  going  into  the  Arctic  wilderness  and 
leaving  her  to  her  fate.  He  had  left  her  in  the  flower- 
wilderness  of  California.  He  would  return  there,  expecting 
to  find  her.  She  grieved  for  his  grief  more  than  her  own. 
She  could  not  console  him  when  he  knew,  for  she  was 
herself  the  cause  of  his  shame. 

She  hated  the  stranger  enemy  that  had  invaded  her 
fidelity.  In  wrath  she  put  up  her  hands  to  thrust  the  alien 
away,  but  the  little  leech  was  drawing  the  very  blood 
from  her  heart.  It  clung  greedily  and  its  gurgling  protest 
was  such  a  prayer  that  her  bosom  loved  it,  her  hands 
clasped  it  and  adopted  it  for  their  very  own. 

One  of  the  strangest  forms  of  introduction  in  experience 
is  the  first  presentation  of  an  infant  to  those  who  have 
preceded  it  into  life.  Dimny  could  not  accept  fairy-tales 
for  explanation. 

She  was  grown,  and  she  knew  all  too  well  the  history  of 
that  baby.  Its  presence  on  earth  was  mysterious  enough, 
but  with  the  mysteries  that  bewilder  knowledge,  not  the 
simple  conundrums  and  charades  of  childhood. 

Mrs.  Parcot  cast  down  her  eyes  and  blenched,  and 

277 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny  choked  upon  the  words  she  would  have  spoken. 
She  gazed  with  the  fascination  of  dread  on  that  tiny 
very  distant  relative  of  hers,  that  half-sister,  and,  seeing 
that  its  plight  was  worse  than  any  other  plight,  she  felt 
a  tug  at  her  heartstrings  and  she  understood  that  this 
wee  bit  lassiky  was  the  most  guiltless  of  all  and  the  most 
helpless. 

She  lifted  it  from  its  nest  and  took  it  in  her  arms,  pacing 
the  floor,  warmed  with  its  fierce  young  warmth  and  thrilled 
ineffably  as  its  soft  hands  beat  her  young  breast,  knocking 
at  her  heart  and  pleading,  "Let  me  in." 

She  felt  for  the  first  time  now  the  hunger  for  motherhood, 
an  emptiness,  a  destiny.  She  felt  that  she  was  not  some 
thing  sealed  and  individual,  but  a  chalice,  a  holy  vessel 
wherein  future  lives  must  brew.  She  was  afraid  of  the 
thought,  but  it  was  the  fear  of  the  virgin  hearing  from 
afar  the  annunciation.  She  had  an  instinct  of  flight  and  of 
resistance,  but  also  an  instinct  of  doom. 

She  walked  swiftly  up  and  down  as  if  she  would  run 
away  from  her  fate.  Her  mother,  following  her  with  a 
wondering  gaze,  understood  and  trembled.  And  Alice, 
staring  at  her,  cried  out  against  the  merciless  decree  that 
made  women  long  for  their  own  most  pitiful  adventure. 

Then  Alice  cried  out  with  another  pain.  There  was  a 
quality  in  her  cry  that  alarmed  her  mother  and  the  learned 
nurse.  There  was  a  scurry,  a  hastening  of  Alice  to  her 
room,  a  despatch  of  messengers  here  and  there,  a  doctor 
brought  with  speed  to  the  rendezvous  where  life  meets  life 
in  duel,  with  death  for  referee. 

It  would  have  made  things  so  much  simpler  if  Alice  or 
her  child  had  failed  to  pass  the  test.  But  youth  fought  for 
Alice  and  the  irate  clamor  of  the  lusty  boy  who  greeted 
the  day  like  chanticleer  ended  that  unspeakable  hope. 

If  there  were  anything  in  heredity,  this  lad  was  not  the 
son  of  gentle  Nazi  Duhr,  but  of  some  stormy  tyrant  whose 
name  Alice  could  never  know. 

Dimny  would  not  be  banished  from  her  sister's  presence. 
She  learned  all  there  is  to  learn  of  such  things  in  one  long 
frightful  battle,  and  when  Alice  came  back  from  the 
throes  of  death-in-life  she  found  a  sister,  if  not  a  husband, 

278 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

there  to  lend  her  strength.  Alice  needed  help  and  sympathy 
in  the  acute  dismay  she  woke  into. 

She  loved  Dimny  suddenly,  and  Dimny  her,  with  a  new 
love.  They  clung  together  desperately,  Alice  sobbing  with 
the  aftercurse  of  anguish  in  her  torn  body  and  her  heart 
subjected  to  this  second  violation.  She  was  so  distraught 
with  her  torment  that  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  business  of 
the  doctor  and  the  nurse  making  ready  to  return  to  the 
toother  what  they  had  taken  from  her. 

But  when  at  last  the  stolid  nurse  stood  before  her 
and  in  rough  Flemish  bade  her  behold  what  a  fine 
great  man  was  hers,  Alice  turned  out  of  Dimny's  arms 
a  little,  and  cast  across  her  bare  shoulder  one  glance 
of  mortal  horror  at  the  squirming,  big-little,  purple  beast 
that  croaked  and  twitched  in  the  nurse's  palms.  And  she 
snarled : 

"Take  that  toad  away!    It's  not  mine!    I  hate  it!" 

She  whirled  back  to  Dimny,  hiding  her  eyes  in  Dimny's 
arm. 

The  nurse,  used  to  the  various  greetings  of  first  mothers, 
smiled  and  scolded,  and  the  doctor  lectured  Alice  about 
her  duty. 

She  turned  again  slowly  and  muttered:  "All  right. 
Give  it  to  me!"  And  she  put  out  her  hands. 

The  triumphant  doctor  turned  away  and  the  nurse  with 
a  smile  proffered  the  shrieking,  clutching  child,  but  Dimny, 
watching  Alice's  eyes,  started  and,  glancing  to  her  hands, 
saw  how  her  fingers  had  become  talons  greedily  crooked 
to  tear  and  rend.  With  a  cry  of  alarm,  Dimny  swept 
Alice's  arms  aside  and  held  her  back  while  she  struggled  to 
seize  and  strangle  her  enemy.  The  nurse  recoiled,  and  the 
doctor  whirled  in  amazement,  snatching  from  the  nurse 
the  prize  he  had  fought  for. 

Alice  struggled  in  a  frenzy  while  her  strength  lasted,  and 
then  fell  back  moaning  with  baffled  wrath  and  remorseful 
astonishment  at  herself.  But  devastating  as  her  remorse 
was,  it  brought  no  affection  for  the  child  now  raging  in  a 
black  frenzy  of  famine. 

Mrs.  Parcot  had  been  reconciled  to  her  babe  because  she 
had  lived  long  and  known  wedlock  and  much  sorrow,  and 

279 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

grown  used  to  loving  children  who  repay  devotion  with 
ingratitude  or  wretchedness  or  death. 

But  Alice  was  still  a  girl.  She  had  been  denied  the  rites 
of  love;  she  had  been,  as  it  were,  lynched  by  a  band  of 
thugs;  her  innocence  had  been  raided;  without  sanctity  or 
desire  she  had  been  coerced  to  maternity,  and  her  son  had 
been  as  lawlessly  ruthless  to  her  innocence  as  his  father 
had  been. 

To  have  killed  the  father  in  self-defense  would  have  been 
accounted  a  righteous  deed.  The  desperate  effort  to 
protect  herself  from  this  later  sacrilege  was  instinctive. 
She  had  been  helpless  before,  and  had  not  been  spared. 
Why  should  this  junior  partner  in  the  outrage  be  spared 
because  he  was  not  yet  strong? 

So  she  reasoned,  or  acted  without  reason.  And  when  she 
was  thwarted  of  her  instinct  and  saw  her  attempt  with  the 
horror  of  other  eyes,  she  hated  the  child  the  more  for  hating 
herself  on  its  account,  since  it  is  hardest  to  forgive  those 
who  make  it  impossible  to  forgive  ourselves. 

The  babe  was  taken  from  her  and  lent  to  a  great  young 
mother  as  fluent  of  plenty  as  Diana  of  the  Ephesians.  It 
was  many  days  before  Alice  could  tolerate  the  sight  of  it, 
and  then  she  accepted  it  only  as  a  heavy  penance  for  the 
guilt  she  had  now  acquired.  It  was  safe  in  her  hands,  but 
she  could  not  manufacture  love  by  an  effort  of  will. 

She  took  her  mother's  maiden  name  for  her  married 
name  and  asked  to  be  called  "  Mrs.  Judson  "  for  appear 
ance'  sake. 

She  had  no  name  for  her  child  and  could  find  none  until 
one  day,  reading  in  the  Bible,  she  came  upon  the  story  of 
Rachel's  travail  of  a  son: 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  as  her  soul  was  in  departing  (for 
she  died),  that  she  called  his  name  Ben-oni." 

Alice,  looking  in  the  margin,  found  that  the  name  meant 
"  The  son  of  my  sorrow."  So  she  gave  her  child  that 
name. 

But  her  mother  called  her  baby  by  her  own  name, 
"  Alma,"  not  knowing  that  it  meant  "  Nourishing." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

AMD  now  the  Parcot  family  was  on  the  other  side  of 
that  deep  river,  with  two  new  people  in  their  com 
pany,  two  persons  very  young,  but  very  definite  of  character. 

Dimny  had  to  be  the  man  of  the  family,  since  her  father 
was  beyond  reach  and  her  mother  and  her  sister  were  unable 
to  bestir  themselves. 

She  stayed  indoors  for  many  days,  till  the  physician 
ordered  her  out  in  the  air  lest  she  fall  sick. 

She  walked  awhile,  without  purpose  or  destination,  feel 
ing  lonely  beyond  endurance.  After  a  time  she  heard  Noll 
Winsor's  voice  at  her  elbow,  saying: 

"Dimny!  at  last!  You  can't  imagine  how  I've  missed 
you!" 

But  she  rounded  on  him  with  a  glare  of  such  hostility 
that  he  fell  back  amazed : 

"What's  the  matter  Dimny?"  he  pleaded.  "You  look 
as  if  you  hated  me." 

"  I  do,"  she  groaned. 

"But  why?    Why?" 

"Because—" 

"Because—?" 

"Because  you  are  a  man." 

"And  that's  the  because  why  I  love  you.  And  you  said 
once  that  you  loved  me." 

"I  don't  any  more." 

"But  what  have  I  done?" 

"Nothing." 

That  was  as  much  as  he  could  get  from  her  mood.  He 
could  not  understand  from  what  torment  and  what  fear  it 
sprang.  He  persisted  at  her  elbow,  pleading  till  she  begged 
him  to  have  mercy  on  her  and  leave  her. 

And  only  then  he  remembered  to  say  that  he  had  a 

19  281 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

cablegram  for  her  mother.     It  had  come  in  care  of  the 
C.  R.  B. 

"Who  sent  it?"  she  asked,  with  dazed  fatuity. 
"How  should  I  know?"  he  answered,  still  resentful. 
She  took  it,  thanked  him,  and  walked  on,  then  paused 
and  meditated,  ignoring  the  passers-by  who  stared  and 
turned  again  to  stare. 

She  could  only  think  that  the  cabled  message  must  mean 
bad  news,  bad  news  for  her  to  take  the  shock  of  and  break 
as  tenderly  as  she  could  to  her  mother. 

Noll,  lingering  near  to  be  at  hand  if  she  needed  him, 
saw  her  hesitate,  then  rip  the  envelope  with  sudden  resolu 
tion.     He  saw  her  read,  gasp,  stare  at  nothing,  while  her 
hands  drooped  listless.    She  swayed  so  that  he  thought  she 
would  fall,  and  he  hurried  to  her  side,  murmuring: 
'Dimny,  what's  wrong?    Is  it  bad  news?" 
'Yes!"  she  whispered.    "My  poor  father — " 
'He's  not  dead?" 

'  No,  he's  alive  and  well  and  happy." 
'Then  why — " 

'  He  says  he  is  coming  over  to  bring  us  home.    Oh,  Noll ! 
Noll!" 

And  now  she  clung  to  his  arm  again,  and  leaned  upon 
him  heavily. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

A  MAN  says,  "There's  no  understanding  a  woman," 
because  when  they  come  to  a  crossroads  of  thought 
or  feeling,  he  turns  to  the  right  and  she  to  the  left,  and  they 
arrive  at  different  goals  or  come  round  into  the  same  high 
way,  according  as  the  roads  run. 

Noll  was  befuddled  with  Dimny's  seeming  inconsistency. 
Yet  she  was  consistent  enough;  their  minds  had  simply 
taken  different  paths. 

He  thought:  "She  loves  her  father;  he  has  been  in  the 
Arctic  regions  in  danger  for  a  long  time.  She  and  her  mother 
and  her  sister  need  him  bitterly.  She  ought  to  rejoice  at 
his  return." 

But  Dimny  thought:  "My  poor  father  has  come  back 
from  the  northern  peace  to  learn  the  ghastly  truth  about 
the  war  and  what  ruin  it  has  made  of  his  wife  and  daughter. 
His  heart  will  be  stabbed  with  wounds  that  can  never  be 
cured."  She  grieved  for  him  as  for  a  child  that  must  learn 
an  ugly  truth.  His  glad  words  that  he  was  coming  over 
to  bring  his  family  home  showed  how  innocent  he  was 
of  their  plight.  His  poor  wife  and  his  poor  daughter 
would  have  to  face  him  and  explain  their  griefs — and 
exhibit  their  children. 

That  woe  beyond  woe  was  what  was  breaking  Dimny's 
spirit. 

Noll  could  not  imagine  her  reasons,  but  he  understood 
them  when  she  explained  them  in  a  few  pitiful  words. 

She  stood  on  the  crowded  street,  bewildered  with  the 
confusion  of  her  thoughts.  But  Noll  was  mooded  to  find  an 
escape  from  thought  by  an  energetic  action.  It  was  to  him 
not  a  matter  of  bewailing  the  situation,  but  answering  the 
cablegram. 

283 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"What  will  you  wire  him?"  he  asked. 

"How  do  I  know?"  Dimny  moaned.  "I'm  afraid  to 
show  this  message  to  mamma.  She  will  go  mad.  She'll 
never  consent  to  his  coming  over  here." 

"Then  she  must  go  to  him." 

"She'll  never  be  able  to  do  that." 

"But  she  can't  disown  him,"  Noll  insisted.  "He's  done 
nothing  to  deserve  that." 

"He's  done  nothing  to  deserve  what  has  happened  to  his 
family,  either,"  Dimny  protested. 

Noll  fled  from  a  discussion  of  the  ethics  of  punishment. 
"He's  done  nothing  to  deserve  what  his  family  proposes 
to  do  to  him,  either.  If  you  don't  go  back  to  America, 
he'll  come  over  here  to  look  for  you." 

"Oh,  he  mustn't  do  that!"  Dimny  cried.  "The  sea  is 
too  dangerous.  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  go  back." 

"But  the  sea  is  just  as  dangerous  for  you." 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't!  It  will  be  safe  for  us  because  we  want 
to  die.  There's  no  insurance  like  wanting  to  die." 

He  studied  her  where  she  stood,  so  young,  so  alive,  so 
steeped  in  beauty,  so  desirable;  and  the  thought  that  she 
wanted  not  to  live,  that  she  wanted  to  restore  the  flower 
she  was  to  death  and  the  dust,  was  as  shocking  as  a  blas 
phemy. 

"Hush!"  he  groaned.  "Don't  talk  that  way,  for  God's 
sake!" 

"All  right,"  she  replied.  "I  won't  talk  that  way  if  you 
want  me  not  to,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  that  way." 

She  turned  to  go,  and  he  went  along,  pleading  with  her 
to  believe  that  there  was  still  happiness  possible  for  her 
family,  a  bruised,  crippled  happiness,  perhaps,  but  as  much 
of  it  as  anybody  could  expect  in  this  gory  world,  and  more 
than  innumerable  other  families  could  count  on. 

He  praised  up  life  and  advertised  the  merits  of  pluck  and 
of  never  saying  die.  His  arguments  left  her  cold,  though 
she  used  them  herself  with  great  warmth,  later,  when  Noll 
left  her.  at  her  door  and  she  went  in  to  break  the  news  of 
the  cablegram  as  slowly  and  gently  as  she  could  to  Alice 
and  her  mother. 

They  were  overwhelmed  by  it,  just  as  she  was,  and  with 

284 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

even  more  dismay,  since  they  were  the  actual  victims  and 
she  only  a  kinswoman  of  tragedy. 

They  were  thrown  into  complete  panic.  They  spoke  of 
suicide  as  their  only  recourse,  and  with  more  earnestness 
than  ever.  They  were  very  near,  indeed,  to  the  actual 
step. 

The  stampede  of  their  faculties  was  aggravated  by  a 
feeling  that  Stephen  was  already  at  the  door,  just  about 
to  knock,  just  about  to  turn  the  knob  and  rush  in,  his  eyes 
aglow  with  devotion.  It  would  be  like  him  to  surprise 
them  as  a  great  joke. 

They  could  hardly  endure  the  thought  of  his  smile  and 
his  cry  of  welcome.  They  could  hardly  endure  the  vision 
of  the  change  that  would  come  over  him  as  he  staggered 
back  from  the  sight  of  them. 

And  yet  they  did  endure  it  as  people  endure  almost 
everything,  as  the  world  was  enduring  everything  and 
rolling  on.  As  some  poetess  has  written: 

How  much  the  heart  may  bear  and  yet  not  break! 

How  much  the  flesh  may  suffer  and  not  die! 
I  sometimes  think  that  neither  pain  nor  ache 

Of  soul  or  body  brings  our  end  more  nigh. 
Death  chooses  his  own  time.     Till  that  is  sworn 
All  evils  may  be  borne. 

These  women  had  certainly  had  their  mettle  tested. 
There  was  hardly  any  outrage  of  spirit  or  flesh  that  they 
had  escaped.  Yet  they  were  strong  enough  to  suffer  this 
new  ordeal,  and  the  showers  of  their  tears  rather  renewed 
than  quenched  the  fires  of  their  spirit. 

They  debated  flight  from  the  sight  of  Stephen  Parcot, 
and  flight  from  the  light  of  day.  They  cast  aside  all  the 
big  arguments  for  living  and  going  to  America.  But  one 
little  argument  finished  their  mutiny  against  fate.  And 
that  was  Dimny's  quotation  from  Noll: 

"If  you  don't  come  back  to  him,  he'll  come  over  the 
ocean  to  you." 

"Oh,  he  mustn't  do  that!"  Mrs.  Parcot  cried.  "It's 
too  dangerous.  We  have  done  enough  damage  to  his 
happiness  without  risking  his  dear  life." 

285 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

And  so  at  last  they  resolved  to  go  back  to  America,  in 
order  to  risk  their  own  lives  instead  of  his. 

Having  decided  to  go  back  to  him,  they  could  wonder 
how  he  would  receive  them. 

"He  will  be  terribly  good  to  us,"  Alice  wept. 

"To  you,"  her  mother  sighed.  "He  will  take  you  to  his 
arms  without  question,  you  poor,  bruised  lamb;  but  me, 
what  will  he  do  with  me?" 

"He  will  love  you  more  than  ever,"  Dimny  cried. 

"Oh  yes,  he  may  love  me  more,  and  he  will  feel  sorry  for 
me,  but — this  poor  baby — she  will  keep  us  apart  forever." 

A  terrific  thought  occurred  to  Dimny.  She  stammered, 
"He  might  think  he  was  the  father  if — if  you  didn't  tell 
him  just  how  old  she  is." 

This  thought  was  hardly  so  appalling  as  the  fact  that 
Dimny  should  be  sophisticated  enough  to  think  it.  It 
was  a  thought  to  cower  before,  but  the  education  that 
Dimny  had  undergone  was  yet  more  crushing. 

Mrs.  Parcot  dared  not  face  it.  She  said :  "I  will  let  him 
divorce  me  and  be  free." 

She  tightened  her  hold  on  the  baby.  They  would  go 
into  the  wilderness  together. 

They  talked  about  the  advisability  of  preparing  him  for 
the  shock  by  telling  him  the  truth.  But  Dimny  said: 

"The  German  censor  wouldn't  pass  the  cable.  You'd 
only  attract  the  attention  of  the  brutes.  It  will  be  hard 
enough  to  get  out  of  the  country  as  it  is." 

She  remembered  the  difficulty  she  had  had  in  persuading 
von  Bissing  to  release  the  English  girls.  And  that  reminded 
her  of  Miss  Curfey,  the  first  she  had  promised  to  restore; 
the  only  one  she  had  not  sent  back. 

She  resolved  to  hunt  up  two  men,  Noll  and  Klemm,  the 
latter  for  Miss  Curfey's  passport,  the  former  for  her  own. 

Dimny  had  long  ago  given  up  her  American  habit  of 
walking  freely  along  the  street  with  her  eyes  guilelessly 
alert  for  interesting  glimpses  of  life,  looking  at  the  men 
she  met  as  at  the  women,  children,  dogs,  and  street-cars  and 
with  no  more  thought  of  flirtation.  Nor  had  she  practised 
that  form  of  counter-flirtation  which  leads  a  foolish  woman 

286 


THE   UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

to  pretend  to  be  violently  oblivious  of  the  existence  of 
men  about  her  path. 

In  Belgium  Dimny  had  learned  that  a  careless  brush 
of  the  glance  across  a  German  officer's  face  evoked  an 
instant  response,  and  perhaps  a  pursuit.  The  common 
soldiers,  of  course,  were  too  humble  to  misunderstand  her 
casual  interest  in  them,  for  there  is  a  strange  observance  of 
caste  in  the  amorous  aspirations  of  men;  only  the  most 
unusual  of  them  even  consider  the  women  of  an  upper 
grade  to  desire  them.  The  enlisted  man  longs  for  the 
peasants  and  the  servant-girls  and  wastes  hardly  a  look  on 
the  lady  going  by.  She  is  the  officer's  interest.  A  man  may 
condescend;  the  prince  may  ogle  the  chambermaid;  but 
presumption  is  rare.  Dimny  had  no  adventures  with  the 
common  soldiers  except  to  be  gruffly  bespoken  as  an 
Englishwoman.  But  the  officers  were  a  pest.  The  virtuous 
insulted  her;  the  vicious  were  too  gracious. 

She  was  going  along  now  with  an  old-fashioned,  down 
cast  eye,  when  she  realized  that  she  was  being  followed, 
shadowed.  Footfalls  attended  hers  like  an  echo  of  her  own. 

At  length  she  was  headed  off;  she  stopped  short,  made 
to  move  round  the  obstruction,  but  was  checked  again. 

She  looked  up  with  a  flare  of  indignation  and  saw  a  very 
lean  German  with  one  vacant  sleeve  looped  and  pinned 
to  his  breast.  On  his  face  were  new  scars  in  addition  to 
the  familiar  memorials  of  that  old-time  saber  slash. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  "it's  Colonel  Klemm!  I  didn't 
know  you." 

'  Do  you  safe  so  many  lifes?" 
'I  don't  understand.    What  do  you  mean?" 
'You  ditt  safe  me  my  life — not  true?" 
'Oh  no,  I  merely— 

'  Aber  ja!  and  as  in  olten  dimes  dose  life  belongks  by  you. 
Is  it  nothingk  I  could  do  to  proof  it  ?  I  have  one  arm  only 
now,  but  still  a  little  influence — 

"There  is  one  thing  you  might  do  for  me — if  you  only 
would." 

"I  only  vill,"  he  declared.  Then  he  saluted  her  and 
answered,  in  the  formula  of  a  soldier  acknowledging  an 
order  from  his  superior  officer,  "Zw  Befehl!" 

287 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  missed  the  gracefulness  of  this  homage.  She  kept 
silence  till  he  asked,  abruptly: 

"Your  Mutterchen  and  your  Schwesterchen,  how  find  dey 
demselfs?" 

"They  are  very  well,  thank  you." 

"And  de — how  to  say — Holzdpfel,  dey  go  good  besites — 


yes 


She  guessed  that  a  Holzapfel  was  a  wild  apple,  but  she  did 
not  know  that  the  word  was  also  slang  for  an  illegitimate 
child.  Her  innocent,  "  I  don't  understand"  took  him  aback 
a  little.  He  explained:  "I  ditt  heard  dey  have  two  nize 
babies  now.  Dose  babies  go  good,  yes?" 

"How  did  you  know?"  Dimny  asked,  crimsoning. 

"To  know  is  my  Geschaft.  I  know,  too,  de  letter  your 
sister  writed  you  by  America  from  Dofnay." 

Dimny  blenched  with  vicarious  shame.  She  turned  her 
back  on  him  and  resumed  her  course.  He  followed,  apologiz 
ing.  She  would  not  speak  to  him  except  to  say : 

"Bring  me  Miss  Curfey  and  I'll  talk  with  you." 

"Vy  you  don't  come  get  her  vit  me?" 

"Because  I  can't  trust  you." 

"Oh,  Mees  Parcot!"  He  put  up  his  hand  with  the 
ingenuous  horror  of  an  unsullied  innocence  cruelly  mis 
judged.  That  she  should  distrust  him,  him  who  was  only  a 
spy! 

"You  deceived  me  once.    You  will  again." 

"Nein,  und  abermals  neinl  I  give  you  proofs  if  only  you 
esk  me.  I  vish  it  only  to  do  your  pleasure." 

She  stared  at  him  keenly.  He  met  her  eye  without 
flinching,  for  he  was  entirely  sincere  in  his  desire  to  win  her 
good  opinion,  and  better  than  that.  She  nodded  to  herself 
with  a  sudden  resolution,  and  spoke : 

"If  you  mean  what  you  say,  you  can  give  me  proof. 
My  mother,  my  sister,  and  I  want  to  go  back  to  America. 
Get  us  our  passports." 

This  was  a  facer  indeed.  To  win  closer  to  her  heart  he 
offered  to  do  anything  she  asked,  and  she  asked  him  to 
arrange  for  her  eternal  removal  from  his  sight. 

He  shook  his  big  head  glumly.  "Esk  somethingk  else, 
but  to  do  dat  I  could  not." 

288 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  smiled  grimly  and  moved  on.  He  ventured  to  check 
her  with  his  hand.  She  looked  down  on  her  arm  where  he 
held  it,  and  he  let  go,  pleading: 

"I  get  passports  for  your  mamma  and  Mees  Ellis,  but 
not  for  you." 

This  puzzled  her  so  that  she  demanded,  "Why?" 

"  I  do  not  like  Brussel  vitout  you,"  he  smiled. 

This  was  entirely  too  proprietary  to  endure. 

"Colonel  Klemm!"  she  gasped.    He  tried  to  be  playful. 

"Or  if  you  must  gone,  take  me  vit  you — yes?" 

She  did  not  answer  this  or  anything  else  he  said,  though 
he  trudged  at  her  elbow  till  she  reached  the  office  of  the 
C.  R.  B.  He  dared  not  follow  her  in,  and  she  did  not  bid 
him  good-by. 

He  knew  that  Noll  Winsor  was  stationed  there  and  he 
curdled  with  jealousy. 

He  writhed  with  another  torment,  the  torment  of  a  man 
who  has  had  power  and  abused  it  and  lost  it.  In  times 
like  these,  when  brute  force  of  mind  and  body  was  a  man's 
chief  asset,  he  had  nothing  to  commend  him. 

He  loitered  about  for  a  while  in  a  rage  of  uncertainty. 
Suddenly  he  smiled.  The  absurdity  he  had  uttered  as  an 
appeasing  witticism  about  going  to  America  with  Dimny 
struck  him  all  of  a  heap  as  no  absurdity  at  all,  but  an  act 
of  the  highest  wisdom. 


CHAPTER   XLV 

E~  NG  before  Dimny  arrived  to  take  up  the  question  of  a 
passport,  Noll  had  been  discussing  it  with  Skelton. 

When  Noll  broached  the  question  of  the  departure  of  the 
Parcots,  Skelton  growled: 

"Passports,  eh?  Under  the  circumstances  there'll  be 
grave  difficulties." 

"Difficulties!     Why?" 

A  look  was  exchanged.  Noll  saw  that  Skelton  under 
stood.  The  outrageousness  of  German  domination  revolted 
him  as  never  before.  He  had  been  born  and  bred  in  the 
feeling  that  he  as  an  American  citizen  had  sacred  preroga 
tives.  Dimny  and  her  mother  and  sister  as  American 
women  were  still  more  inviolate. 

"They're  only  asking  what's  their  right  as  Americans." 

"What  rights  has  a  nation  of  a  hundred  million  people 
and  a  hundred  thousand  soldiers  against  a  nation  with 
seventy  million  people  and  seven  million  soldiers?" 

For  a  moment  Noll's  rage  swung  against  his  own  country 
men.  "We  don't  deserve  to  be  free!"  he  snarled.  But 
he  could  not  remain  more  than  an  instant  in  that  mood, 
and  he  fell  back  to  blind  rage  at  Germany. 

It  was  unbearable  that  she  should  treat  the  citizens  of  the 
sacred  Republic  with  the  same  toploftiness  as  the  Belgians. 

Germany  had  shown  her  hand.  She  had  struck  a  friendly 
neighbor  down  without  warning,  had  occupied  this  Naboth's 
vineyard  and  tortured  his  children.  Did  the  United  States 
take  warning  ?  Was  it  ready  to  protect  its  citizens  with  the 
only  protection  that  could  be  translated  into  German? 

A  panic  seized  Noll,  a  panic  of  impatience  to  get  home 
and  start  the  cry  of  alarm.  He  could  go  at  once,  but  he 
could  not  leave  Dimny  or  her  people. 

To  ask  for  passports  for  the  mother  and  sister  and  their 
babies  would  attract  attention  to  them,  would  bring  on 

290 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

questions  as  to  names,  husbands,  birth  certificates,  with  an 
exposure  of  their  guilt  as  victims  and  a  possible  refusal  of 
permission  to  depart. 

To  attempt  to  smuggle  them  across  the  line  or  make  a 
bold  dash  would  be  to  invite  death  or  imprisonment,  and 
if  America  demanded  their  release  the  parley  would  ad 
vertise  the  very  facts  they  must  conceal. 

In  the  midst  of  his  perplexities  Dimny  appeared.  She 
told  him  that  her  mother  and  sister  had  decided  to  go 
back  to  America  at  once.  She  wanted  to  make  sure  of  the 
passports  and  also  to  cable  her  father  that  they  would 
start  back  as  soon  as  they  had  finished  some  charity-work. 

She  explained  to  Noll:  "The  real  reason  is,  of  course, 
that  the  babies  are  not  strong  enough  to  start  across  the 
ocean  yet.  But  I  can't  tell  my  father  that.  He — he  doesn't 
know  that  there  are  any  babies." 

Noll  shook  his  head  in  anguish  for  her.  She  went  on  to 
tell  him  about  Colonel  Klemm.  The  mention  of  that  name 
startled  an  idea  out  of  Noll — perhaps  Klemm  the  user 
:ould  be  used. 

Noll  did  not  mention  this  thought  to  Dimny,  but  he  felt 
so  cheerful  with  new  plans  that  he  told  her  to  go  ahead  and 
cable,  as  he  would  assure  her  return. 

A  happier  thought  struck  him.  One  of  the  couriers  was 
about  to  go  to  England  via  Holland.  He  would  cable  from 
London  and  give  the  Rotterdam  office  as  their  address.  This 
would  ease  the  father's  mind  and  avoid  the  German  attention. 

She  wrote  out  a  message  and  one  of  the  Rhodes  Scholar 
couriers  promised  to  memorize  it  to  avoid  carrying  a  paper 
that  might  fall  into  German  hands.  Noll  walked  home 
with  Dimny  and  then  went  to  the  Palace  Hotel  to  call  on 
Colonel  Klemm.  When  the  colonel  appeared  Noll  practised 
on  him  his  best  etiquette  and  his  best  German. 

"I  have  been  very  busy  and  you  have  been  ill,  and  I 
have  had  no  chance  to  answer  your  proposition." 

"What  proposition?"  Klemm  asked.  His  memories  of 
the  past  had  not  been  entirely  reassembled  since  the  shock 
of  his  wounds. 

"Don't  you  remember  making  me  a  proposition  to  go 
back  to  America  and  act  as  a  secret  agent  of  Germany?" 

291 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Klemm  recalled  the  whole  incident  with  delight.  "Ach 
yes!  Well,  what  is  your  answer?" 

"  Ach  yes." 

Klemm  was  overjoyed.  He  seized  Noll's  hand  in  his 
and  wrung  it  with  the  hospitality  of  the  devil  buying  in 
another  soul. 

"You  mean  that  you  will  serve  the  Fatherland?" 

"Well,  it's  only  my  stepfatherland,  and  it's  not  a  job  I 
relish." 

"No  more  do  I,  lieber  Herr  Vinsor.  If  I  had  my  way  I 
should  be  in  the  trenches.  But  that  is  too  beautiful  to  be, 
so  I  do  the  next  best.  And  it  is  not  a  bad  business  as  one 
might  think  at  first.  How  is  it  more  wicked  to  deceive 
your  friend  than  your  enemy  ?  How  is  it  more  cruel  to  act 
as  a  spy  and  save  your  country  than  to  deceive  and  shoot 
and  stab  the  enemy  in  the  ditch?  You  will  be  amazed 
when  I  tell  you  about  our  organization  over  there.  It  is 
wonderful  how  well  the  machinery  works.  In  fact,  I  have 
a  hope  of  joining  the  American  espionage  myself." 

"You  mean  you  may  come  to  America?"  Noll  exclaimed, 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  Klemm  entirely  misunderstood. 

"I  hope  I  may." 

"I  hope  you  do!"  Noll  said,  with  a  bloodthirsty  fervor. 
"I'll  go  over  and  get  everything  ready  for  you." 

"Colossal!"  said  Klemm. 

"By  the  way,  there's  a  little  favor  I'd  like  to  ask  you." 

"It  is  granted." 

"I  want  passports  for  the  three  Parcot  women." 

This  pleased  Klemm.  He  did  not  care  what  became 
of  Dimny's  mother  and  sister,  but  if  he  were  going  to 
America  he  would  want  Dimny  to  be  there  and  to  be  well 
disposed  toward  him.  To  hamper  her  would  alienate  her; 
to  smooth  the  way  for  her  would  be  the  best  commendation 
he  could  find  to  her  favor. 

"I  think  I  can  arrange  it,"  he  announced,  abruptly. 

"Splendid!"  said  Noll.  "And  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad 
I'll  be  to  see  you  in  our  country.  We'll  all  be  able  to  repay 
you  what  we  owe  you — over  there." 

He  clacked  his  heels  and  bowed  and  bowed,  mirroring 
Klemm's  antics  as  best  he  could. 

292 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

'"PHE  life  of  the  Parcots  had  a  new  excitement  now. 
1  Before  them  stood  the  prospect  of  a  return  home. 
They  had  grown  so  used  to  the  Belgian  misery  that  the 
refurbished  memories  of  America  were  like  fantastic  imag 
inings  of  some  Utopian  dream-world. 

Was  it  possible  that  there  was  a  country  where  there 
was  no  war?  where  an  enemy  was  not  in  possession,  making 
and  enforcing  the  laws?  where  slaughter  and  the  news  or 
fear  of  slaughter  were  not  the  daily  bread  ?  where  there  was 
not  a  bayonet  at  every  corner?  where  the  populace  did  not 
inhabit  bread-lines  ?  where  one  came  and  went  at  will  ? 

At  times  their  nostalgia  swept  over  them  in  gusts  of 
longing.  At  times  they  dreaded  to  go  back  at  all,  since 
they  could  not  leave  behind  them  their  experiences. 

At  times  they  rejoiced  to  think  of  having  Stephen  Parcot 
as  their  defender,  that  strong,  fearless  man  who  loved  them 
so.  At  times  they  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  facing  him. 

But  the  day  of  departure  drew  near  and  they  had  not 
the  courage  to  refuse  to  go.  Stephen  had  received  Dimny's 
cablegram  and  answered,  with  unsuspecting  devotion  and 
impatience,  that  he  would  meet  them  in  New  York. 

On  one  of  their  last  days  in  Belgium  Klemm  appeared  to 
say  that  he  could  not  persuade  Miss  Curfey  to  leave  the 
convent.  He  urged  Dimny  to  go  with  him  to  convince  her 
that  the  invitation  was  honest. 

Dimny  consented  with  much  uneasiness,  and  set  forth 
in  his  car.  It  was  not  the  great  gray  racer  he  had  used 
before,  for  now  he  was  no  longer  Icing.  The  cripple  was 
lucky  to  get  a  crippled  car.  Yet  he  might  still  by  a  word 
prevent  or  delay  the  escape  from  Belgium. 

Noll  had  told  Dimny  of  the  game  he  was  playing,  first  to 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

facilitate  the  departure  and  second  to  learn  what  he  could 
of  German  propaganda  in  America. 

Dimny  enacted  the  r61e  assigned  to  her  to  perfection, 
though  she  loathed  it.  She  loathed  everything  about 
Klemm  except  his  misfortunes.  She  was  not  one  who 
could  gloat  over  the  writhings  even  of  a  scotched  rattle 
snake. 

Klemm  took  her  straight  this  time  to  the  convent  where 
Miss  Curfey  was  housed,  and  waited  outside  while  Dimny 
made  her  attack. 

Miss  Curfey,  like  so  many  of  her  race,  suffered  such  an 
instant  timidity  before  strangers  that  at  their  first  advance 
she  drew  into  her  shell  like  a  turtle.  She  would  also  snap 
at  the  hand  put  out  too  promptly.  This  action  is  really 
an  expression  of  shyness,  not  of  aggression;  but  foreigners 
naturally  misinterpret  it.  The  all-amiable  American  is 
particularly  liable  to  provoke  the  retreat  and  miscall  it 
contempt. 

Perhaps  Miss  Curfey  inherited  the  trait  from  some  an 
cestress  left  in  charge  of  a  castle  while  her  husband  was  at 
the  Crusades.  The  appearance  of  a  stranger  was  enough 
to  cause  her  to  retreat  to  her  tower  and  let  her  portcullis 
fall. 

When  Dimny  asked  for  her  at  the  convent  and  the 
Mother  Superior  fetched  her,  Dimny  was  not  greeted  as 
any  rescuing  angel,  but  as  a  suspicious  invader. 

The  visits  of  Klemm  had  confirmed  the  fluttering  con 
vent  in  the  view  that  some  mischief  was  afoot.  The  tall 
Miss  Curfey  looked  down  on  the  small  Miss  Parcot  from  a 
turret  of  anxiety  across  a  moat  of  fear.  But  Dimny  read 
it  as  disdain  and  distrust,  and  flushed  with  wrath,  and  was 
tempted  to  leave  her  in  her  castle.  She  met  silence  with 
silence  and  glare  with  glare  for  a  moment,  while  the  Mother 
Superior  waited  whitely. 

At  length  Dimny  remembered  how  her  first  impressions 
of  England  had  been  changed  after  she  got  inside  the  turtle- 
shell.  She  realized  that  she  must  make  a  formal  presenta 
tion  of  her  credentials  before  she  could  expect  any  welcome. 

She  warmed  to  the  poor,  big  child-woman  regarding  her 
so  coldly,  and  made  her  most  diplomatic  approach. 

294 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Miss  Curfey,  when  I  was  in  London"  (a  little  mellow 
ness  came  into  the  girl's  hard  eyes),  "visiting  at  Mrs. 
Devoe's" — (this  was  still  better;  Miss  Curfey  knew  Helen 
Devoe  well;  her  heart  came  down  a  step  from  the  high 
tower),  "I  was  talking  to  Captain  Gilbert  Roantree" 
(Miss  Curfey  was  at  a  lower  window  suddenly),  "and  his 
mother  was  saying  to  me — " 

"You  know  Mrs.  Roantree?  and  Gilbert?"  Miss  Curfey 
gasped. 

Dimny  laughed  at  the  quite  unintentional  insult  of  this, 
as  if  it  were  astonishing  that  a  mere  Yankee  could  know 
a  Roantree.  She  could  not  resist  a  little  boastfulness. 

"Captain  Gilbert  motored  me  everywhere  and — and — 
but  it  was  his  mother  that  kissed  me  good-by." 

"Not  rilly!"  Miss  Curfey  cried,  whirling  down  two  whole 
flights  of  winding  stairs. 

Dimny  went  on:  "The  first  time  I  talked  to  Mrs.  Roan 
tree,  at  Helen  Devoe's,  there  was  another  woman  there 
who  spoke  of  the  English  girls  in  Belgium.  She  said  she 
had  a  daughter  here,  and  when  I  told  her  I  was  coming 
over  to  find  my  own  mother  and  my  sister  she  broke  down 
and  wept  and  wept  in  Mrs.  Roantree's  arms." 

Miss  Curfey  was  at  the  gate  now,  the  portcullis  up,  the 
drawbridge  falling.  She  was  breathing  hard  from  her 
quick  descent  of  all  those  stairs. 

"Who — who  was  she?"  she  panted. 

"She  said  that  her  daughter  had  written  that  she  was 
at  work  on  a  Christmas  present  and  would  bring  it  home 
when  she  came,  but — •" 

Miss  Curfey  had  her  by  the  arm,  squeezing  it  cruelly  and 
demanding:  "What  was  the  daughter's  name?  Tell  me!" 

"Ethel  Curfey." 

Now  the  countess  from  the  tall  tower  was  a  broken 
hearted  girl  sobbing  in  Dimny's  arms  and  calling  her,  or  at 
least  calling  across  the  shoulder  she  leant  on: 

"Mother!     Mother!" 

Dimny  felt  motherhood  too,  and  her  young  heart  ached 
with  a  presage  of  that  time  when  she  should  have  grown 
daughters  lost  in  the  wars  and  invasions  of,  say,  1945. 

Helen  Curfey  clung  to  her  and  fondled  her  now  and  told 

295 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

her  how  wonderful  she  was;  how  no-end  good  and  patient 
and  "all  that "  she  had  been  to  such  a  rotten  little  rottah  as 
herself,  whom  she  ought  to  have  jolly  well  smacked  ovah, 
rahthah ;  and  would  she  mind  it  quite  too  horribly  if  she 
kissed  her?  And,  oh,  she  was  quite  mad  to  be  back  at  home, 
doing  her  bit  as  the  other  gels  did,  breaking  hosses  and 
plowing  and  making  munitions,  or  anything  to  be  doing 
something. 

The  bursten  dam  of  her  long-pent  chatter  somehow  re 
minded  Dimny  of  "How  the  waters  came  down  at  Lodore." 
But  she  finally  dammed  the  stream  again  by  speaking  of  the 
necessity  of  getting  ready  and  of  having  a  photograph 
taken  for  her  passport. 

While  the  sisters  packed  her  luggage  Dimny  carried  her 
off  to  a  photographer.  The  picture  was  hardly  a  success, 
as  the  girl  could  not  sit  still  and  her  eyes  were  swollen 
with  tears,  but  it  served,  and  after  a  deal  of  waiting  and 
farewelling  Dimny  and  Klemm  carried  Ethel  Curfey  back 
to  Brussels. 

And  now  the  time  of  departure  was  at  hand.  Noll  was 
to  run  a  C.  R.  B.  car  to  Rotterdam  for  the  last  time  and 
leave  it  for  his  successor  to  bring  back. 

Klemm  asked  if  he  might  not  go  with  them  to  the  border ; 
and  since  there  was  protection  in  his  lee,  they  gave  consent. 

His  motives  were  two;  a  jealous  wish  to  rebuff  any  of 
his  fellows  who  might  ogle  Dimny;  a  hungry  instinct  to 
prolong  his  sight  of  her  to  the  last  moment. 

The  car  was  thronged  with  passengers ;  Mrs.  Parcot  and 
Alice  with  their  babies,  and  Dimny  and  Helen,  besides 
Klemm  and  Noll  and  the  baggage,  but  Klemm  more  than 
paid  his  fare  by  the  delays  he  saved  at  the  innumerable 
sentry-posts. 

He  went  all  the  way  to  the  gate  between  the  death-charged 
wires  that  cut  off  the  Netherlands  from  Flanders.  He  got 
out  of  the  car  there  and  kissed  Dimny's  hand,  and  she  felt 
warm  tears  splashing  from  his  harsh  eyes.  He  dared  not 
raise  his  head  till  he  had  shaken  them  off. 

And  still  he  could  not  let  her  go.  He  followed  afoot  till 
he  was  at  the  very  line.  When  the  car  was  in  Holland  for 

296 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

sure,  Noll  stopped  it  and  got  out  with  a  murmured  "Excuse 
me  one  moment." 

Noll,  once  his  feet  were  on  the  Netherlands,  drew  a 
breath  of  air  already  free.  He  could  have  fallen  on  the 
ground  like  another  Ulysses  and  kissed  it  for  its  safety. 

He  had  brought  his  passengers  over  the  dead-line.  He 
had  lied  and  cheated,  but  he  had  the  absolution  of  success. 
Now  there  was  an  opportunity  to  free  his  soul  of  this  guilt, 
also  to  wash  his  hands  of  the  muck  they  had  dug  into  to 
bring  up  these  prizes.  He  motioned  to  Klemm  to  come 
closer.  The  Dutch  sentinel  there  stared  at  him  indifferently. 
The  German  sentinel  walked  away.  There  he  paused  on 
the  invisible  equator  between  freedom  and  slavery,  between 
humanity  and  Germanity.  Noll  began  with  some  diffidence, 
in  German. 

"Colonel  Klemm,  I  want  to  play  fair  with  you,  now  that 
I  can.  I  promised  you  that  I'd  work  for  Germanism  in 
America." 

Klemm  tried  to  quell  this  indiscretion.  He  put  his  finger 
to  his  lips  and  shook  his  head. 

Noll  went  on: 

"  I  promised  you  because  I  didn't  know  any  other  way 
to  get  these  poor  victims  out  of  your  clutches.  I  want  to 
tell  you  now  that  I  was  lying  all  the  time.  I  never  had  the 
faintest  intention  of  such  dirty  work.  I  didn't  dare  tell 
the  truth  while  I  was  in  the  German  lines,  for  you  Germans 
have  no  sense  of  your  own  rights  or  anybody  else's. 

"But  I'm  a  free  man  now,  and  I  can  afford  to  be  an 
American  again.  And  I  want  to  tell  you  that  the  minute 
I  get  home  I'm  going  to  tell  what  I  know  about  you. 
I'm  going  to  turn  over  to  our  Secret  Service  what  you've 
told  me  about  your  Secret  Service,  and — " 

Klemm  had  begun  to  puff  and  snore  with  rage,  not  only 
at  Noll's  treachery,  but  at  his  own  folly.  He  was  as  much 
appalled  at  the  perfidy  of  this  trustee  of  his  confidence  as 
any  maiden  meeting  human  duplicity  for  the  first  time. 

He  clenched  and  unclenched  his  right  hand  as  if  it  had 
Noll's  windpipe  in  throttle.  He  even  tried  to  clench  and 
unclench  his  absent  left  hand. 

His  right  hand  went  into  his  pocket.  With  a  guttural 
20  297 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

rasp  of  fury  he  drew  a  revolver,  bestrode  the  line,  and 
jammed  the  muzzle  into  the  pit  of  Noll's  stomach. 

' '  Come  beck  once !    Hande  hoch! ' ' 

A  detective  had  taught  Noll  a  few  tricks  long  ago.  He 
remembered  one  of  them  now.  His  right  hand,  about  to 
rise  in  a  gesture  of  surrender,  darted  to  the  left  and  slapped 
the  revolver  aside  so  swiftly  that  before  Klemm's  trigger 
finger  could  act  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver  was  past  Noll's 
hip  and  the  bullet  went  into  the  ground  between  the  Dutch 
sentinel's  feet. 

As  the  Netherlander  rose  gracelessly  into  the  air  with  a 
yelp,  Noll's  right  hand  met  his  left  hand  and  the  two  worked 
diligently  together,  twisting  Klemm's  hand  back  along  his 
forearm  until  the  agony  and  the  fear  of  broken  bones  drew 
a  wolf -like  howl  from  his  contorted  mouth. 

He  doubled  up  and  writhed  and  his  knees  bent  under 
him.  Before  his  wrist  broke,  his  fingers  relaxed  and  Noll's 
left  hand  gathered  in  the  revolver  as  easily  as  plucking  an 
ear  of  ripe  Indian  corn  from  a  stalk. 

In  the  next  instant  he  had  thrust  the  straightened  fore 
finger  of  his  other  hand  into  Klemm's  cheek  near  the  nos 
tril.  It  held  him  like  a  spear-point,  and  before  he  could 
reach  up  to  snatch  the  hand  away  he  was  tossed  backward 
into  the  unwilling  arms  of  the  advancing  German  sentinel. 

The  easy  success  of  his  tricks  made  Noll  laugh,  and  he 
called  across  the  infinitesimal  abyss  between  the  two 
nations:  "I'm  sorry  to  pick  on  a  man  with  only  one  arm, 
but  if  you  don't  stay  put  I'll  come  over  there  and  beat  your 
fat  head  off,  anyway." 

Klemm  was  shuddering  with  humiliation.  The  Dutch 
sentinel  stood  bareheaded — having  lost  his  cap  in  the  up 
ward  bound — with  his  bayonet-point  inviting  Klemm  to 
cross  the  line  into  his  parish.  The  German  sentinel  clung 
to  Klemm's  arm  and  haled  him  back. 

He  was  trebly  helpless.  Noll  was  afterward  a  trifle 
ashamed  of  the  young-American  brag  that  impelled  him 
to  shout: 

"I'm  coming  back  from  America  one  of  these  fine  days, 
and  the  next  time  you  see  me  I'll  have  a  uniform  on  and  a 
Springfield  in  my  hand." 

298 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  smiled  at  Klemm's  futile  retort:  "You  did  not  got  to 
America  yet." 

Noll  was  about  to  toss  the  revolver  back  to  its  owner, 
but  he  pocketed  it  instead,  after  looking  to  its  safety-lock. 
He  chuckled  with  success  as  he  clambered  into  his  car 
again,  but  the  white  faces  of  the  women  sobered  him.  He 
had  not  yet  learned  dignity  and  he  felt  cheap.  But  there 
were  compensations. 

A  turn  of  the  road  gave  them  all  a  last  view  of  poor  Bel 
gium.  They  looked  back  past  the  glittering  spikes  on  the 
helmets  of  the  German  guards,  at  the  hapless,  unoffending 
land,  and  tears  hurt  their  eyes.  So  many  innocent  people 
were  there,  so  many  dead,  so  many  left  to  dwell  in  a  prison 
of  hate  among  ruined  homes  and  lives,  to  face  starvation, 
contempt,  outrage,  slavery,  for  years  upon  years.  It 
seemed  a  kind  of  treachery  to  abandon  them.  And  their 
worst  foreboding  did  not  prophesy  a  tithe  of  what  was  to 
follow. 

"We'll  come  back  for  them,"  Noll  said.  "America  can't 
stand  off  forever." 

He  drove  on,  and  it  was  good  to  be  in  a  free  land.  He 
heard  Dimny  describing  her  adventures  here  and  pointing 
out  to  her  mother  and  sister  and  to  Ethel  Curfey  the  little 
cottage  of  Vrouw  Weenix,  who  was  joined  now  to  the 
innumerable  company  the  Germans  had  herded  into  the 
grave. 

At  Rosendaal  they  paused  to  see  if  they  could  get  word 
of  the  Reumont  family.  They,  too,  had  gone,  and  new 
sorrowers  had  taken  their  places  who  knew  nothing  of  them. 

Holland  could  only  cower  under  the  menace  of  Germany, 
which,  like  a  vast  billow  stayed  by  the  hand  of  a  god  or  a 
devil,  hung  imminent,  always  about  to  crush  and  smother 
the  Netherlands  in  such  misery  as  Flanders  presented 
for  an  eternal  warning. 

The  fugitives  crossed  the  Channel  wearing  life-preservers, 
for  the  dread  of  submarines  was  an  increasing  horror.  The 
Germans  were  sinking  everything  they  found,  hospital- 
ships,  Dutch  ships  pledged  to  safety,  food-ships  of  the 
Belgians,  loading  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  millions  of 
tons  of  grain  while  famine  grew  and  gnawed. 

299 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Noll  and  his  charges  at  last  reached  Albion  behind  her 
white  cliffs  and  her  black  ships.  But  they  were  not  safe 
even  here,  since  Germany  was  sending  her  Zeppelins  now, 
her  air  fleets,  and  her  stealthy  coast-raiders — like  embers 
from  the  hell-furnace  of  hate. 

A  train  took  them  to  London.  The  train  was  filled  with 
officers  and  men  on  leave,  with  wounded  and  with  men 
whom  miracles  had  kept  unscathed  for  future  agonies. 
When  the  station  was  reached  they  sprang  into  the  arms 
of  their  people  at  the  station  and  craved  one  favor  only ! 

"Ask  no  questions.  Say  nothing  of  the  war.  Give  us 
love  and  bath-tubs,  dancing  and  theaters,  music  and 
laughter  and  clean  clothes,  but  no  war-talk." 

They  wanted  to  fill  their  hearts  with  a  store  of  joy 
against  the  day  that  should  start  them  back  to  the  ditches 
where  life  was  hardly  less  grievous  than  death  and  where 
the  wounds  were  welcome  that  took  them  to  "Blighty"  to 
stay. 

Mrs.  Curfey  was  at  the  train.  Her  husband  had  gone  to 
Gallipoli,  one  of  her  sons  was  in  Egypt,  another  in  Salonica, 
and  another  somewhere  on  the  sea.  Ethel  rushed  into  her 
arms  and  they  wept  bountifully  the  sweet  salt  tears  of 
reunion.  They  smothered  Dimny  with  gratitude  and 
begged  her  to  stay  with  them.  Dimny  introduced  her 
mother  and  her  sister  as  her  excuses  for  declining  the 
invitation.  But  Mrs.  Curfey  would  not  be  denied. 

"Oh,  there's  so  much  room  at  my  house,  so  many  empty 
rooms!  It  would  be  so  good  of  you  to  come  to  us." 

Dimny  ignored  her  mother's  and  Alice's  signals  to  refuse, 
and  accepted.  They  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  the  English 
custom  of  leaving  their  guests  to  their  own  devices,  since 
they  were  also  left  to  their  own  secrets. 

Dimny  called  on  Helen  Devoe  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
Katherine  or  Lane  Sperling.  Helen  greeted  her  with  the 
same  casual  cordiality,  and  said  that  her  room  was  ready  for 
her  and  the  cigarettes  were  on  the  table  just  back  of  her. 

Katherine,  she  said,  was  somewhere  in  France  or  Flan 
ders,  just  back  of  the  battle-front.  Helen  got  out  her  latest 
letter  and  let  Dimny  read  it.  Katherine,  the  fashionable, 
the  smart,  the  girl  who  had  flitted  from  frock  to  frock  three 

300 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

or  four  times  a  day  and  from  tub  to  tub,  and  from  manicure 
to  hair-dresser,  and  who  could  forgive  anybody  anything 
but  a  mental  or  a  bodily  slovenliness,  had  written  on 
paper  that  a  scullery-maid  would  have  scorned,  by  a  candle 
in  a  cellar: 

If  mother  could  only  see  me  now!  I've  had  my  hair  cut  off  short 
like  a  convict's.  I  had  to.  They  got  past  kerosene  and  the  kerosene 
gave  out  and  I  had  too  much  else  to  do  to  take  care  of  so  many  pets. 

I  washed  my  face  yesterday,  too — honestly!  It  didn't  do  much 
good,  since  there  was  no  soap  and  the  water  was  dirty,  and  only 
a  cupful  of  it,  but  it  felt  glorious!  Try  it  once.  I  haven't  had  my 
clothes  off  for  three  days  and  nights  and  I  haven't  had  a  bath  for 
exactly  three  weeks. 

Last  night  the  damned  boches  dropped  a  'shell  in  my  boudoir, 
so  I  had  to  sleep  in  another  cellar  with  eighteen  soldiers  sprawled 
round.  They  were  too  dead  beat  to  look  at  me  and  I  was  perfectly 
chaperoned  by  my  short  hair  and  my  muddy  pants  and  boots. 

If  you  have  any  extra  hot-water  bottles  fire  'em  over.  We've 
discovered  that  if  we  can  get  into  the  trenches  and  warm  the  wounded 
up  well  before  they  start  back  through  the  communication-trenches 
to  the  ambulances  and  on  back,  we  save  a  heap  of  lives.  It's  the 
first  shock  and  the  horrible  chill  that  do  for  so  many. 

I  miss  my  poor  little  ambulance,  but  I'm  glad  the  little  shell  missed 
me,  so  I  can't  complain.  In  fact,  I'm  having  the  time  of  my  fair 
young  life.  Don't  feel  sorry  for  me,  for  I  wouldn't  swap  my  mud- 
puddle  for  the  coziest  corner  in  Paradise. 

Got  to  stop  now.  The  evening  Hate  is  just  beginning  to  commence. 
Good-by,  darling! 

Your  devoted 

KATHERINE. 

So  changed  was  the  world  that  Dimny,  reading,  envied 
her  and  began  to  lay  her  plans  to  enter  the  same  blissful 
estate. 

Helen  went  with  her  to  call  on  Mrs.  Roantree.  The 
captain  was  home  again.  He  had  left  two  legs  in  France 
and  his  handsome  face  was  hard  to  look  at  casually,  es 
pecially  under  the  burning  vigilance  of  his  two  eyes,  eyes 
that  had  seen  the  deepest  circles  of  Inferno.  But  his  talk 
was  a  little  more  flippant  than  before.  He  was  a  bit  more 
ashamed  of  the  bravery  that  won  him  the  V.  C. 

"Thank  God,  they  left  enough  of  me  to  wear  the  trinket 
on.  Good  of  'em — what?" 

He  had  three  friends  who  had  neither  an  arm  nor  a  leg 
left;  they  called  themselves  "  oysters." 

301 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Mrs.  Roantree  was  too  proud  of  the  broken  vase  that  she 
had  formed  for  the  world,  and  filled  with  her  own  brave 
spirit,  to  show  any  grief  over  the  ruins  that  were  left  of 
him. 

Dimny  was  glad  to  get  out  into  the  air.  But  there  was 
no  escape.  The  parks  were  more  crowded  than  ever  with 
remnants  of  men,  and  more  troops  were  drilling  than 
before.  The  sight  of  these  fruits  of  war  did  not  stop  re 
cruiting.  It  was  a  greater  spur  thafi  any  other  eloquence. 

And,  curiously,  the  feeling  that  Dimny  drew  from  this 
hell  above  ground  was  not  one  of  joy  that  her  people  were 
out  of  it,  but  of  humiliation  that  they  abstained  from 
plunging  in. 

Noll  Winsor,  when  she  met  him,  had  the  same  spirit: 

"I'm  ashamed  to  go  about  the  streets  in  civilian  clothes," 
he  groaned.  "I'd  join  the  British  army  this  minute  if  I 
didn't  think  I'd  do  more  good  to  take  you  home  and  come 
back  with  a  million  American  men  in  uniform." 

"You'll  bring  me  back  with  you,  I  hope,"  said  Dimny. 

He  stared  at  her  and  his  arms  longed  in  his  sleeves  to 
clasp  her,  but  they  remembered  their  lesson.  He  had  an 
intuition  that  he  saw  a  look  of  disappointment  in  Dimny's 
eyes,  but  he  dismissed  such  instinctive  wisdom,  as  men  do 
•and  women  don't,  and  all  he  said  was: 

"I've  got  the  steamer  tickets.    We  sail  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

DIMNY,  walking  the  deck  with  Noll,  remembered  her 
deck-walks  with  Lane  Sperling  and  her  terror  of  his 
love  and  his  embrace. 

Now  a  new  spirit  imbued  her  soul.  The  ocean,  seen 
from  the  parapet  of  the  high  -  upstanding  ship,  was  vast 
and  somber,  though  at  peace  with  the  quiet  air.  The 
waves  seemed  lonely,  putting  up  hands  against  the  ship 
that  ran  past  and  would  not  wait  for  them.  It  was  a 
following  wind  that  day  and  the  waves  were  overtaken  and 
left  behind.  They  could  not  keep  up,  yet  toiled  on. 

Where  were  they  going?  They  were  but  images,  nothing 
but  shapes.  The  wave  was  only  an  arrangement,  a  pat 
tern;  the  drop  of  water  that  darkled  in  the  trough  of  one 
wave  did  not  go  on  with  it,  but  became  a  jewel  of  spray 
on  the  next,  a  bit  of  froth  on  the  next,  and  again  a  dark 
drop.  Yet  it  was  the  waves  that  seemed  to  yearn  and 
strive. 

What  else  were  humankind?  The  particles  of  their 
bodies  were  not  the  same  to-day  as  yesterday,  as  to-morrow. 
Yet  the  wave  of  life  ran  through  them  or  they  through  the 
wave,  plunging  into  gloom,  leaping  into  hope,  falling  back 
into  the  depths,  helpless  in  each  estate. 

History  was  waves,  as  people  were.  There  was  a  tempest 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters  now.  And  the  peoples  of  the 
world  were  churned  up  against  one  another,  billow  clashing 
with  billow  and  current  striving  against  current. 

It  was  calm  in  America,  but  the  tide  set  that  way;  the 
whitecaps  rode  thither.  How  long  could  her  shores  escape 
the  hurricane? 

What  preparations  were  they  making  against  the  onset? 
They  had  news  enough  of  the  wreckage  it  made.  Surely 

303 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

when  Dimny  reached  America  she  would  find  it  astir  with 
preparation. 

She  was  thinking  of  such  things  because  she  was  taking 
home  with  her  the  knowledge  of  the  storm,  the  bitter  proofs 
of  its  cruelty — proofs  that  she  could  not  display  or  mention. 
The  bitterest  part  of  her  grievance  was  that  it  could  not  be 
bewailed.  It  involved  silence  and  evasion;  it  would  com 
pel  lies  and  subterfuges. 

In  this  mood  of  bitterness  she  had  need  of  what  little 
sweetness  life  might  vouchsafe.  Her  heart  turned  to  her 
companion  for  solace.  Nowhere  else  was  there  comfort. 
He  knew  her  secrets,  and  did  not  despise  her  for  her  mis 
fortunes,  but  needed  her  and  dogged  her  steps. 

George  Moore  has  said  something  to  the  effect  that  all 
the  amorous  literature  in  the  world  has  less  influence 
than  a  warm  breeze,  a  bare  arm,  or  a  coquettish  glance. 

The  warm  wind  was  at  work  on  Noll  Winsor.  Dimny 
did  not  look  at  him.  They  hardly  spoke.  Yet  the  breeze 
wooed  for  them.  It  beat  on  their  cheeks  with  a  panting 
tenderness.  The  sea  breathed  and  throbbed  like  a  million 
hearts  on  one  vast  bosom.  The  air  was  the  very  attar  of 
loneliness. 

Noll  was  intoxicated  with  it.  He  had  loved  long  and 
vainly,  had  endured  suffering,  peril,  and  deferment.  It 
was  so  useless  to  go  on  postponing  what  happiness  there  was 
at  hand.  Dimny  had  no  other  lover,  no  other  ambition. 
He  knew  that.  Yet  she  had  forbidden  him  to  hope. 

At  any  moment  through  that  placid  sea  there  might  come 
with  a  shark-like  rush  a  torpedo  to  splinter  the  unsubstan 
tial  platform  that  upheld  them  out  of  the  sea.  And  then 
death  would  be  their  portion,  and  no  more  love,  an  end  to 
delight  before  even  the  beginning  of  it. 

They  would  perish  in  torture  and  never  know  the  sweets 
of  passion,  self -cheated  wasters  of  opportunity  who  spurned 
the  roses  and  gathered  the  thorns.  Procrastination  would 
thieve  away  what  pitiful  little  rapture  the  doomed  world 
permitted.  The  roses  would  droop  soon  and  sift  their 
wilted  petals  on  the  ground. 

A  sense  of  the  great  need  of  hurry  alarmed  him.  The 

3°4 


At  any  moment  through  that  placid  sea  there  might  come 
a  torpedo.     And  then  death  would  be  their  portion. 
The  one  important  thing  was  haste,  to  embrace  and  make 
love  before  the  gulf  opened  beneath  their  feet. 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

one  important  thing  was  haste,  to  embrace  and  make  love 
and  be  wed  before  the  gulf  opened  beneath  their  feet. 

He  was  enraged  at  the  folly  of  dying  even  into  paradise 
without  first  knowing  the  sufficient  rapture  of  this  flesh. 
In  such  a  frenzy  he  glanced  aside  at  Dimny  with  a  maniac 
Impatience.  He  loved  her  to  a  hatred.  She  was  so  bit 
terly  beautiful,  so  miserly  with  that  treasure,  a  keeper  of 
an  orchard  in  bloom  and  fruit  who  would  neither  taste  the 
apples  nor  let  the  famished  wayfarer  approach. 

Standing  alongside  like  a  Greek  statue  in  blown  draperies 
that  less  concealed  than  caressed  her  graces,  her  body  was 
one  warm  appeal  for  love.  The  dreamy  blur  of  her  eyes 
half  closed  against  the  gale,  the  red  petal-velvet  of  her 
mouth,  the  arc  of  her  chin,  the  progression  of  curved  pro 
files,  from  round  shoulder  and  arm  to  her  instep,  the 
mellifluous  surfaces  of  her  as  she  moved  and  glowed — he 
deified  and  adored  them  all  with  a  lover's  priestcraft.  And 
he  was  terrified  lest  he  see  her  butchered  and  mangled  on 
a  shattered  deck,  or  choking  and  floundering  in  the  ocean 
and  then  dead. 

He  was  half  mad  with  the  frenzy  to  seize  her  before 
death  got  her.  But  he  had  tried  before  to  pluck  her  love 
and  she  had  turned  to  ice  in  his  arms.  He  was  afraid  of  her. 

If  he  had  but  guessed,  he  might  have  had  his  way,  for 
an  influence  stronger  than  his  own  or  her  scruples  was  in 
possession  of  Dimny.  She  had  gone  through  the  horrible 
phases  of  love  first  and  had  grown  used  to  them.  She  had 
come  through  them  as  through  a  dark  ravine  that  she  had 
entered  from  the  wrong  side.  She  was  back  again  in  youth. 

Noll  had  become  one  of  her  family.  She  kissed  and 
fondled  her  mother  and  her  sister  and  she  was  returning  to 
the  father  whose  affection  had  been  rich  in  tenderness. 
The  thought  of  him  and  of  his  welcoming  arms  and  devoted 
kisses  redeemed  the  offices  of  affection.  She  was  lonely 
now  for  the  clench  of  strong  muscles  about  her.  She 
needed  to  be  crushed  and  smothered  up  in  a  great  love. 

She  hoped  that  Noll  would  dare  again,  but  he  did  not 
and  she  could  not  tell  him  that  her  old  prejudice  was  gone. 

The  slow  seesaw  of  the  deck  threw  them  against  each 
other  now  and  then  and  she  found  the  contact  sweet.  But 

305 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Noll  always  made  haste  to  move  away  and  even  to  ask  her 
pardon. 

She  could  not  read  his  mind.  She  mistook  his  sullen 
reticence  for  boredom  or  resentment.  She  walked  the  deck 
till  she  was  tired  out.  She  lingered  on  various  pretexts 
in  nooks  where  no  one  was.  She  sank  down  at  the  foot  of  a 
roaring  funnel  where  nobody  could  see  them.  But  Noll  said 
never  a  word  of  love  and  she  could  not  know  that  the  petty 
frolic  of  a  tendril  of  hair  fluttering  against  the  nape  of 
her  neck  bereft  him  of  his  senses  till  he  wanted  to  cry 
out  against  such  thwarted  beauty. 

A  few  sailors  disturbed  them  at  length  with  apologies. 
They  were  going  to  swing  in  the  life-boats.  Noll  asked 
why,  and  a  sailor  of  evident  origin  answered : 

"We're  pahssing  aht  of  the  dynger  zown,  seh,  and  it 
looks  a  bit  loike  ryne.  So  we're  gowing  to  put  the  covers 
on  the  bowts." 

"We're  out  of  the  danger  zone,  eh?" 

"Ow  yus,  seh,  we're  syfe  enough  nah,  seh.  The  'Uns 
wown't  tech  us  'ere;  and  we're  west'ard-bahnd  at  that." 

Noll  breathed  more  easily.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
afraid  in  vain.  The  sea  was  beautiful  ahead.  The  dark 
clouds  promised  a  cozy  rain,  and  beyond  them  was  America. 

He  leaned  on  the  rail  and  gazed  into  the  water  with  more 
comfort.  Dimny  joined  him  there.  There  was  a  lull  in  the 
wind,  the  waves  gave  up  no  spray,  but  ran  with  smooth 
heads  unruffled. 

And  yet  there  was  a  glisten  of  spray  in  the  distance  there. 
Noll  studied  it  idly.  He  pointed  it  out  to  Dimny.  It  was 
an  odd  sort  of  spray.  It  did  not  belong  to  the  waves. 
It  cut  across  them.  Some  fish  was  charging  the  ship 
perhaps,  foolishly  thinking  to  make  prey  of  it. 

Then  his  smile  became  a  grimace.  His  heart  turned  to 
lead.  It  began  to  beat  his  breast  like  the  clapper  of  an 
alarm-bell. 

He  tried  to  find  breath  to  cry  out,  "Run!"  though  there 
was  no  place  to  run.  The  ship's  bells  hammered  out  the 
hour  in  mellow  couplets,  but  above  them  with  a  jangling 
harshness  rang  the  shout  from  the  crow's-nest  as  if  from 
some  warning  angel  in  the  sky: 

306 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Torpedow  on  the  pawt  baow,  seh!" 

There  was  a  scurry  on  the  bridge.  A  sense  of  terror 
exploded  about  the  ship  everywhere  at  once.  There  was 
running,  shouting.  The  sailors  at  work  on  the  life-boat 
davits  became  statues  gazing  emptily  at  nothing,  their 
hands  rigid  on  the  rigid  ropes. 

It  was  imbecile  to  stand  and  gape  at  the  monster  that 
came  lilting  through  the  sea,  flinging  up  a  plume  of  bubbles. 
But  where  was  one  to  go  to  escape  it  ? 

It  came  right  toward  the  waist  of  the  doomed  ship.  It 
would  strike  just  under  their  feet.  They  might  die  in 
ragged  disintegration  at  once.  That  would  be  best. 

But  the  ship  was  answering  her  captain  now.  The 
engineers  down  in  the  gulf  were  blindly  loyal. 

As  a  whale,  seeing  a  swordfish  charge,  whirls  and  flounders 
to  escape,  so  the  ship  swung  with  a  kind  of  sentience,  but 
with  a  horrible  unwieldiness.  The  torpedo  shot  forward 
with  impetuosity.  It  seemed  to  exult  as  the  faithful 
messenger  of  the  German  captain  who  laughed  somewhere 
below  the  waves. 

Dimny's  paralysis  of  amazement  ended  with  a  start  of 
realization.  She  whirled  and  ran  along  the  deck.  Noll 
ran  after  her.  He  paused  to  tear  three  life-preservers  from 
the  racks.  He  counted  Dimny,  her  mother,  and  Alice.  He 
forgot  himself.  Yet  an  old  woman  who  sprang  from  the 
companionway  and  clutched  at  one  of  his  life-preservers, 
only  to  have  it  snatched  from  her,  thought  him  insane  with 
selfishness. 

Noll  followed  where  he  heard  Dimny's  voice.  She  had 
left  her  people  reclining  in  their  deck  chairs  with  their 
babies  asleep  in  their  arms.  She  had  tucked  their  feet  in 
well  and  petted  them. 

And  now  she  returned  to  them  to  die  with  them  and  go 
down  into  the  suffocation  and  the  drowning  in  a  knot  of 
devotion. 

Noll  ran  after  her,  dodging  through  the  mob  that  sud 
denly  thronged  the  deck  from  nowhere.  There  was  a  clang 
as  of  a  giant  axe  near  the  bow  of  the  ship.  The  deck  stag 
gered  and  flung  him  against  the  rail. 

Then  the  appalling  explosion  roar;  a  geyser  from  the 

307 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

ship's  depths  ripping  a  crater  through  deck  after  deck;  a 
Vesuvius  of  coal  and  iron  and  timber  and  steam  and  of 
human  bodies.  Then  wreckage  falling  back  on  the  deck — 
lumps  of  coal,  ingots  of  steel,  thudding  portions  of  flesh;  a 
turmoil  in  the  water,  a  wild  hubbub  of  waves  about  the 
hole  in  the  ship's  side. 

Then  a  second  roar  from  below,  a  sledging  and  tearing 
of  screaming  plates  and  bulkheads;  a  second  geyser,  more 
pretty  bodies  blasted  to  chunks  of  meat. 

Noll,  as  he  stared,  saw  a  second  torpedo  scudding  ecstatic 
ally  through  the  sea.  But  it  missed  its  goal.  It  went  on  by 
with  its  creamy  wake  and  its  flaunt  of  spray. 

Noll  ran  round  the  deckhouse  and  found  the  Parcots 
sitting  up  in  their  steamer  chairs  and  gaping  at  the  dumb- 
show  with  speechless  lips. 

"Well,  they've  got  us!"  he  said,  with  a  wry  smile.  He 
held  out  a  life-preserver  to  Dimny  as  calmly  as  if  it  were 
a  waistcoat,  except  that  he  had  it  upside  down. 

She  pointed  to  her  mother  and  Alice.  "Them  first," 
she  said. 

He  gave  her  the  third  preserver  and  set  to  work  fitting 
the  other  two  women  and  their  babies  into  the  jackets. 

When  they  had  donned  the  uniform  worn  by  neutrals  at 
that  time,  he  turned  to  Dimny.  She  had  her  life-preserver 
on  all  wrong.  He  wrenched  it  off  and  put  it  on  again, 
buckling  her  in  and  scolding  her. 

"What  about  you?  Where's  yours?"  Dimny  said. 
Before  he  could  answer  she  pulled  one  from  a  rack  and  held 
it  for  him  and  tightened  it  about  him,  scolding  him  for  his 
heedlessness — the  new  Andromache  harnessing  the  new 
Hector.  Her  fingers  were  thumbs,  but  she  was  no  more 
excited  than  a  wife  whose  husband  is  afraid  of  missing  his 
train. 

The  passengers  were  swarming  the  decks  now.  The 
stewards  were  busy,  the  officers  and  seamen  at  their  tasks. 
The  ship  was  cheery  with  "Aye,  aye,  sirs!"  and  commands 
stmg  out  in  sea  chant. 

Passengers  were  telling  one  another  to  be  calm  and  not 
to  lose  their  nerve,  mumbling  that  panic  is  more  dangerous 
than  anything  else  and  that  there  was  plenty  of  time. 

308 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

The  ship  began  to  tilt.  The  water  pouring  into  her 
deep  wound  weighted  her  down.  She  was  sinking  by  the 
bow. 

Everybody  was  benumbed  with  the  multitude  of  things 
to  do  and  not  to  do.  All  the  people  were  making  the 
mistakes  of  haste,  realizing  that  death  was  enveloping 
them  but  must  find  them  worthy  of  themselves.  Every 
body  wanted  to  make  a  good  end.  Everybody  was  most 
afraid  of  being  or  seeming  afraid.  Some  were  brave  who 
would  have  gone  mad  had  they  had  the  leisure  for  fear, 
and  some  were  cowardly  who  would  have  been  brave  with 
a  few  moments  more  to  make  ready. 

There  were  countless  selfishnesses,  gentle  deeds,  basenesses, 
and  sublimities  of  act,  word  and  thought.  Some  remem 
bered  their  love  and  embraced  in  frenzy;  some  remembered 
the  money  in  their  state-rooms  or  in  the  purser's  safe  and 
ran  for  it. 

There  was  leisure  enough  and  to  spare.  The  launching  of 
the  life-boats  was  a  terrifyingly  slow  and  perilous  under 
taking.  It  was  all  too  easy  to  fill  a  boat  with  people,  then 
spill  them  all  into  the  sea. 

As  the  ship  sank  deeper  and  deeper,  the  passengers 
waited,  watching  the  water  come  for  them. 

The  delay  began  to  get  on  their  nerves.  It  was  unfair  to 
ask  people  to  go  on  being  brave  indefinitely.  To  sustain 
a  careless  rapture  of  sacrifice  was  too  much. 

Noll  said  to  Dimny,  with  a  chuckle:  "Everybody  has  a 
life-preserver  on — and  has  it  on  wrong.  That's  life,  isn't 
it?" 

He  about  to  die  saluted  life  with  a  critique. 

At  length  the  boats  were  got  ready  one  by  one. 

"Women  and  children  first,"  the  officers  and  sailors  cried. 
Nobody  needed  that  warning.  There  was  no  debating  it. 
Since  the  accidental  sinking  of  the  Titanic  it  had  become  a 
public  phrase. 

There  followed  those  all  but  intolerable  scenes  that  soon 
became  so  familiar  to  a  world  in  which  it  came  to  be  ac 
cepted  as  a  mere  incident  of  seafaring  that  the  German 
navy  should  lurk  in  the  depths  and  destroy  unarmed  men, 
women,  and  children  without  warning;  that  the  Germans 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

should  launch  torpedoes  at  any  ship  they  saw  with  the 
gleeful  malice  of  street-arabs  plying  nigger-shooters  or 
snowballs.  They  knew  that  none  of  their  own  ships  were 
abroad  and  it  was  safe  to  let  fly. 

The  regular  business  went  on  here.  The  crew  performed 
their  specialties  in  heroism  according  to  rote.  The  wireless 
operator  kept  shattering  the  air  with  calls  while  the  electric 
power  lasted. 

Noll  saw  Dimny's  mother  and  sister  bestowed  in  a  life 
boat.  Before  he  helped  Dimny  in  he  could  not  resist  one 
clench  of  her  dear  body  against  his  own.  She  did  not  resist 
him  now,  nor  shrink.  She  squeezed  his  hands  and  looked 
immortal  longings.  After  the  boat  was  full  there  was  a 
delay  in  lowering  it.  Noll  tried  to  joke  as  one  does  at  a 
pier  when  a  steamer  lags.  Dimny  ordered  him  as  if  she  had 
been  his  devoted  wife  for  years : 

"Don't  wait.  Take  care  of  yourself.  Find  another 
boat.  Please!  Right  away!  Good-by — good-by!" 

As  her  boat  went  riding  down  to  the  sea  he  waved  again 
and  sought  what  means  there  might  be  for  his  own  safety. 
He  was  rather  numb  about  it.  He  found  a  number  of  men 
laboring  over  some  collapsible  rafts.  They  were  unable  to 
find  how  they  worked.  He  joined  them.  It  seemed  to 
make  little  difference  what  happened.  The  world  was  such 
a  rotten  place. 

The  ship  wallowed  and  rolled  as  if  she  were  about  to 
plunge.  Noll  decided  not  to  wait.  He  lowered  himself 
on  a  rope  and  struck  out  swimming.  He  wanted  to  get 
away  from  the  environs  of  the  ship  before  she  sank  and 
dragged  everything  down  with  her.  He  dreaded  the 
maelstrom  that  would  pile  into  the  great  hole  she  would 
make  for  a  moment  in  the  sea. 

He  swam  as  fast  as  his  life-belt  would  let  him.  He  felt 
very  small,  and  the  ship  was  huger  than  he  had  dreamed. 
Seen  from  the  fretted  surface  of  the  water,  she  towered  and 
spread  like  a  whole  city  block  of  tall  buildings  caught  in  a 
flood  and  rocking  on  undermined  foundations. 

From  the  roof  and  from  the  windows  of  that  skyscraper 
tiny  people  peered  down.  Some  of  them  leaped  and  some 
dared  not.  From  the  stern  hung  long  ropes,  and  along  these 

310 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

came  slowly,  timidly,  men  the  size  of  gossamer  spiders 
afloat  on  threads  of  their  own  spinning. 

Some  of  them  could  not  cling.  They  slid  and  plummeted 
the  water  and  did  not  rise  again. 

The  water  about  the  ship  was  populous  with  men  and 
women  and  children  in  boats,  on  bits  of  wreckage,  or 
swimming,  all  mere  flotsam  swung  hither  and  yon  in  wave- 
loads. 

Some  of  the  swimmers  gave  up  after  a  brief  struggle. 
Others  strangled  and  fought,  choking  and  snorting,  grunt 
ing,  spitting,  and  dying  at  last  without  even  the  mercy  of 
a  graceful  conclusion. 

Some  were  caught  between  beams  and  crushed  or  beaten 
with  wreckage  hurled  at  them  by  waves. 

Noll  fought  his  way  through  the  swirling  mobs.  He  saw 
a  hand  bobbing  up  and  down  near  him.  He  seized  its 
wrist  and  set  the  claws  on  a  spar  that  rolled  near.  A  pale, 
wet  face  came  up  from  the  grave  and  made  a  feeble  battle, 
but  the  soul  was  too  jaded  and  the  hands  slipped  off  and 
sank  again.  That  had  been  somebody  dear  to  somebody, 
somebody  to  whom  life  was  dear,  and  now  it  was — fishmeat. 

Noll  grew  bitterer  and  bitterer  as  he  saw  the  deaths  of 
every  sort.  Fiends  might  have  been  chuckling  beneath 
there,  twitching  at  the  ankles  of  those  dancers  in  the  sea 
and  pulling  them  down  to  gulp  and  hurt  and  die  wondering, 
their  souls  in  just  such  swirl  as  the  water. 

All  these  peaceful  citizens  were  flung  out  in  vast  noyades 
to  prove  that  Gott  was  God.  And  other  ships  by  the  hun 
dred  would  be  cracked  open  and  sunk  as  this  good  ship 
would  sink. 

Noll  cursed  Germany  as  countless  other  unoffending 
wretches  had  cursed  her  and  would,  and  as  History  would 
damn  these  years  of  her  supreme  self-expression. 

But  his  curses  and  theirs  would  avail  nothing;  they  did 
not  even  warm  him  now.  He  wondered  how  long  he 
could  endure  this  paddling  about  in  a  floating  strait- 
jacket.  He  swept  the  sea  with  his  gaze  when  he  rose  to 
the  peaks  of  billows,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  a  rescuing 
ship.  The  submarine  had  vanished  without  proffering 
salvation  to  a  woman  or  a  child. 

3" 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Thirst  and  hunger  and  cold  and  exhaustion  would  make  a 
slow  end  of  him.  It  would  be  better  to  slip  out  of  his 
life-preserver  and  make  a  quick  surrender.  While  he 
juggled  this  idea  he  saw  a  life-boat  returning  toward  the 
ship.  Brushing  the  veil  of  spray  from  his  eyes,  he  recog 
nized  Dimny  and  her  people.  They  seemed  to  be  peering 
into  the  inferno,  searching  for  somebody. 

"Don't  turn  back!"  Noll  yelled.  "Get  away  before  the 
ship  sinks!" 

Dimny  shouted:  "Noll!  It's  you!  I  was  looking  for 
you!" 

Noll  protested  that  the  boat  was  already  too  full.  It 
would  sink  if  another  were  taken  in.  He  even  swam  away, 
but  she  cried  out  pleadingly  that  there  were  vacant  places. 
A  woman  had  gone  mad  with  fear  and  leaped  into  the  sea, 
and  another  had  died  of  heart  failure.  Dimny  had  begged 
the  men  at  the  oars  to  go  back  for  some  one  else.  She 
had  grimly  intended  to  see  that  it  should  be  Noll  if  she 
could  find  him. 

She  cried  this  news  to  him,  and  he  came  alongside  and 
clambered  in,  streaming  with  water.  He  sprawled  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  The  other  boats  had  gone  out  beyond 
reach  of  the  final  explosion,  and  waited  as  spectators  at 
the  edges  of  the  arena. 

At  last  the  ship  yielded  up  the  ghost,  for  it  seemed  im 
possible  to  deny  her  a  soul.  As  she  sank  the  water  swept 
in  upon  her,  dragging  numbers  of  victims  along.  Some 
of  these  were  sucked  down  into  one  of  the  smoke-stacks. 
Then  the  boilers  burst,  and  they  were  blown  out,  as  from 
a  great  Roman  candle.  A  few  of  these  lived  to  drown, 
or  to  be  rescued.  Noll's  boat,  turning  back  for  one  more 
bit  of  salvage,  found  one  of  them,  a  woman  whose  clothes 
had  been  ripped  from  her  and  her  skin  so  filled  with  coal 
dust  that  she  seemed  to  be  a  stark-naked  negress. 

They  dragged  her  aboard  and  brought  her  back  to  con 
sciousness.  She  was  so  ashamed  and  so  chilled  that  Noll 
took  off  his  coat  and  even  his  shirt  to  wrap  her  in.  He  had 
left  his  overcoat  on  the  ship. 

The  freighted  life-boat  moved  on  into  the  sea  now, 
pointing  its  prow  back  toward  England,  not  in  the  hope  of 

312 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

reaching  there  by  power  of  hand,  but  of  meeting  some  ship 
sent  out  in  answer  to  the  long-silenced  wireless  cry  for  help. 

Noll  was  glad  to  take  his  turn  at  an  oar,  and  toil  warmed 
him.  The  crew  rowed  on  and  on,  space  mocking  them. 
Clouds  were  thickening  about  sea  and  sky. 

From  the  clouds  at  length  came  wind  and  rain  and 
lightning.  The  rain  was  cold  and  cruel  and  wanton.  It 
was  so  needed  in  many  a  parched  land,  so  useless  here  for 
grain  or  flower.  It  lashed  the  cowering  passengers  with 
fury-whips,  filled  the  bottom  of  the  boat  with  water,  ren 
dered  the  plight  a  little  more  abject. 

The  wind  raised  an  ugly  crisscross  sea,  too,  and  it 
slapped  the  boat  this  way  and  that  and  shook  the  people 
with  further  terrors. 

Behind  the  storm  clouds  the  sun  withdrew  unseen. 
When  the  clouds  had  traveled  on,  trailing  their  dark  gar 
ments  of  rain,  they  left  night,  and  a  lessening  sea  but  a 
bitterer  chill. 

Noll,  unaccustomed  to  the  oars,  gave  up  at  last,  his 
muscles  crying  with  ache,  the  palms  of  his  hands  wincing 
with  blisters  that  broke  and  burned  in  the  salt  water.  The 
members  of  the  life-boat  crew  gave  up  also,  spent  with 
exertion.  There  was  no  goal  in  sight  to  spur  them  on,  and 
the  waves  had  diminished  till  it  was  not  necessary  to  keep 
the  oars  going.  Only  the  man  at  the  tiller  watched  for 
vagrant  waves  and  called  now  and  then  to  the  oarsmen 
to  wake  for  a  moment's  paddling.  But  gradually  they 
drooped  over  their  oars  like  beaten  galley-slaves  and  could 
not  be  wakened.  Sleep  came  slowly  to  all  the  little  popu 
lace  of  that  community — the  sleep  of  bankrupt  strength 
and  drained  grief. 

Alice  and  her  mother  had  taken  off  their  life-belts  that 
they  might  feed  their  babies,  and  these  slept  also  in  the 
great  cradle. 

But  Noll  could  not  sleep.  His  bare  flesh  crept  with 
ague.  The  wind  had  flogged  him  and  the  salt  burned  his 
wounds.  He  huddled  himself  together  like  King  Lear's 
fool,  poor  Tom  a-cold.  He  despised  and  cursed  himself  be 
cause  he  could  not  control  his  muscles,  and  felt  as  craven 
as  a  rat  in  a  terrier's  jaws. 
21  313 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

Dimny,  waking  from  a  dream  and  looking  about  in 
amazement,  found  herself  not  at  home,  not  even  in  Belgium, 
but  in  a  boat  adrift  on  a  midnight  ocean.  She  stared  at 
Noll. 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  haggard  misery,  and  his  teeth 
chattered  together  with  ludicrous  inanity  when  he  tried 
to  make  up  some  trivial  joke. 

She  pondered  his  distress  a  moment,  then  a  thought  came 
to  her.  She  put  up  her  hand  and  took  from  her  hair  the  pins, 
and  let  it  fall  about  her.  It  came  down  in  plaits  and  coils 
and  her  fingers  unwound  these  until  a  broad  mantle  floated 
from  her  head.  Noll  had  seen  her  hair  in  Carthage  and 
wondered  at  its  abundance. 

He  was  too  stupid  to  know  why  she  dispread  it  now. 
She  beckoned  him,  and  he  moved  awkwardly  close  to  her. 
She  whispered : 

"Come  under  my  plaidie,  laddie." 

And  she  wrapped  her  hair  about  them  like  a  shawl. 
He  protested,  but  her  arms  embraced  him,  drew  him  against 
her  side,  and  wrapped  the  living  cloak  all  about  him  as 
though  she  had  woven  it  just  for  this  need.  The  love  of 
it  made  him  warm,  the  tingling,  soothing  luxury  of  her 
hair  and  her  enfolding  arms  among  her  tresses  gave  him  a 
bliss  of  opulence. 

He  clasped  his  fingers  in  hers  and  pillowed  his  cheek 
against  her  breast  and  she  bent  her  chin  down  upon  his 
hair.  He  put  back  his  head  and  her  lips  fell  on  his.  He 
was  strangely  comforted  and  reassured.  And  so  was  she. 
And  by  and  by  they  also  slept. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

EVEN  the  steersman  slumbered,  while  his  practised 
muscles  kept  the  rhythm  of  the  waves.  He  was  set 
and  taut  in  his  pose,  his  eyes  keenly  fastened  on  the  sea 
just  ahead,  but  there  was  a  film  over  his  eyes.  His  skull 
nodded  with  the  nodding  of  the  boat. 

All  the  waves  were  alike — about  so  high,  about  so  steep. 
The  irregularities  merged  into  a  blur  of  hypnotic  agitation. 
The  heads  rocked,  the  crowded  bodies  swayed,  but  the 
drowsy  souls  paid  no  heed. 

After  a  while,  if  any  one  had  been  watching,  he  would  have 
seen  an  odd  wave  coming — one  of  those  outlaws  mys 
teriously  prowling  in  every  sea,  wearing  a  white  crest  in  the 
calmest  ocean  and  in  a  storm  surpassing  the  wrath  of  all 
others.  The  sea  was  smooth  now — for  the  sea.  But  this 
breaker  was  muttering  something  of  its  own. 

It  came  edging  toward  the  life-boat  along  the  parallel 
of  the  tamer  waves,  crawling  across  the  dark  with  the 
clumsy  menace  of  a  reptile  ashore,  hissing  and  baring  its 
fangs. 

If  the  steersman  had  been  really  awake  he  could  have 
avoided  it  or  met  it  fairly.  But  it  struck  the  boat  amid 
ships.  It  smote  the  whole  company  with  spray,  but  they 
were  used  to  that.  It  drenched  Mrs.  Parcot,  but  she  only 
clung  a  little  more  tightly  to  her  child.  She  did  not  wake. 

Alice  lay  outstretched  on  one  of  the  thwarts,  her  baby 
lightly  held  in  her  relaxed  arms.  As  the  boat  careened  in 
the  deep  trough  of  the  wave  Alice  slid  across  the  edge,  the 
baby  rolled  along  her  lap.  And  then  it  was  as  if  the  wave 
thrust  grisly,  frothy  arms  into  the  boat  and  snatched  the 
child  from  the  mother's  hands. 

Alice,  only  half  waking,  groped  for  him  as  when  he 
strayed  from  her  embrace  in  bed.  The  wave  held  him  just 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

beyond  her  reach  as  the  boat  rose  with  a  lurch  over  the 
crest.  When  the  boat  slipped  down  again,  Alice,  still  half 
asleep,  clutched  for  the  child  and  missed — clutched  again 
and  caught  him  by  one  arm.  Then,  as  in  the  old  German 
poem,  half  she  followed  him,  half  he  dragged  her  into  the 
depths. 

If  she  cried  out,  the  water  smothered  her  cry.  The  wave 
purred  and  spun  about  her  as  she  sank.  Perhaps  her  hand 
went  up  through  her  hair,  perhaps  her  hair  merely  seethed 
like  thick  seaweed  and  then  was  slowly  withdrawn  as  she 
went  down  and  down  into  the  oceanic  night. 

She  was  one  of  those  whom  misfortune  had  selected  for 
its  very  own.  Innocent,  meek,  unresisting,  without  even 
the  debit  of  a  little  wild  happiness,  she  had  known  the  ex 
tremes  of  horror,  of  shame,  of  remorse,  and  had  come  to 
that  woeful  epitaph — "Better  dead." 

Her  son  that  brought  so  much  anguish  in  his  brief  life 
ended  before  he  began  what  history  he  might  have  made 
in  the  world.  It  was  his  fate  to  revenge  himself  only  on  the 
mother  who  brought  him  so  unwillingly  into  the  world  and 
would  have  followed  him  so  willingly  out — if  she  had  known 
that  she  was  going.  Her  wish  to  die  was  her  only  granted 
wish. 

She  and  her  child  joined  the  Lusitania  flock  of  American 
women  and  children  strangled  to  death  in  the  sea  by  Ger 
man  wiles,  and  calling  from  the  ooze  for  a  reckoning. 
Two  years  and  a  half  later  the  waves  would  be  beating 
the  Irish  coast  with  the  bodies  of  American  soldiers  from  the 
Tuscania  sunk  by  the  submarines  of  the  still-unconquered 
Germany. 

It  was  some  while  after  Alice's  stealthy  departure  before 
her  mother  stirred  and  woke  to  make  sure  that  her  baby 
was  warm.  Her  hands  felt  for  the  coverlet  that  was  not 
there.  She  looked  drowsily  about  as  she  gathered  her  tiny 
daughter  to  her  breast.  She  saw  Dimny,  strangely  asleep 
with  Noll's  head  in  her  hair.  She  thought  it  a  fantastic 
dream. 

Her  hands  went  out  to  caress  Alice  as  her  wont  had  been. 
They  were  surprised  not  to  find  her.  Mrs.  Parcot  sat  up, 
wondering,  musing  on  the  shadowy  figures  toppled  about  in 

310 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

sleep.  A  haze  was  gathering  on  the  sea,  rising  like  a  cloud 
of  tulle.  At  first  she  could  not  place  herself  in  any  re 
membered  scene.  Then  she  understood  and  looked  again 
for  Alice,  and  was  sorely  puzzled  at  her  disappearance. 
Gradually  she  realized  the  truth.  She  cast  her  eyes  about 
the  starlit  ocean,  all  deeply  dark  save  the  gleaming  foam 
of  a  few  rogue  waves.  Her  heart  that  had  suffered  so 
much  could  still  suffer  more.  She  screamed  the  name  of 
her  daughter.  The  misty  dead  woke ;  shuddered,  babbled, 
yawned  as  they  understood.  Dimny  and  Noll  threw  off 
the  stupor  of  slumber,  questioned  her  drowsily,  stared  about 
the  boat  and  out  across  the  waves  and  down  into  it,  as 
if  they  might  find  Alice  there. 

Noll  would  have  dived  in  to  hunt  for  her,  but  the  crew 
held  him  back. 

Dimny  and  her  mother  could  hardly  weep,  they  were 
so  appalled  by  this  last  grief. 

Noll  was  the  head  of  the  family  now.  He  comforted 
them  with  authority  and  they  both  clung  to  him.  They 
wore  out  the  long  night  murmuring  praises  of  Alice,  and 
regret  for  her.  When  the  slow  dawn  rose  at  last  above  the 
barrier  of  fog,  lifted  it  slowly  and  let  it  vanish,  it  gave 
them  back  the  horizon,  and  it  brought  the  vision  of  a 
pillar  of  smoke. 

A  torpedo-boat  destroyer  was  speeding  across  the 
waves  to  their  salvation.  It  mattered  little  to  the  Parcots 
whether  they  survived  or  died,  but  their  neighbors  shrieked 
with  joy  at  being  granted  a  little  more  life  to  live. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

QTEPHEN  PARCOT  in  the  white  nullity  of  Arctic 
,J  realms  where  man  had  not  been  and  where  the  only 
evils  were  the  flaws  of  wind  and  weather,  of  ice  and  icy 
water,  or  barren  land,  had  learned  to  hold  nature  blameless 
for  her  cruelties. 

It  had  not  been  easy  at  first  to  deny  the  vicious  wrath 
in  the  blizzards  that  cabined  him  in  a  creaking  ship  or  a 
snow-smothered  igloo  for  weeks.  It  had  not  been  easy 
to  watch  the  ice-packs  ravening,  leaping,  and  wolfing  for 
their  prey  and  to  deny  them  malice  and  hunger. 

But  he  knew  that  they  were  merely  the  driven  victims 
of  forces  they  could  not  control  or  shape,  and  he  forgave 
them  since  they  knew  not  what  they  did. 

He  had  attained  a  partial  emancipation  also  from  the 
theory  of  devils  in  the  fiendish  tempers  of  his  men  under  the 
relentless  hardships  of  the  north.  He  smiled  at  their  worst 
tantrums  and  was  not  always  loved  the  better  for  his  God 
like  calm. 

He  had  been  patient  even  when  the  ice  rose  up  and 
crushed  his  uncrushable  ship,  and  he  and  his  crew  were 
forced  to  prove  by  their  suffering  that  the  land  described 
on  the  map  had  no  other  existence.  He  learned  anew  the 
pangs  of  famine  and  counted  a  putrified  carcass  of  walrus  a 
banquet.  Since  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  little 
rifts  in  their  bad  luck  enabled  the  most  of  his  party  to  get 
home  alive,  he  made  the  best  of  the  bad  matter,  ridiculed 
the  wrath  of  his  fellow-professors  of  zeroology,  and  in 
dulged  himself  in  the  luxury  of  homesickness. 

When  at  length  he  reached  civilization  and  read  the  first 
old  newspapers  telling  of  the  outbreak  of  war,  he  was 
astounded  and  aghast ;  yet  he  had  much  to  say  both  against 
the  unreasoning  anger  of  most  of  his  company  at  Germany 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

and  against  the  unreasoning  defense  of  her  that  certain 
German  members  of  the  expedition  made. 

He  kept  a  benignly  neutral  poise  midway  between  the 
ends  of  the  seesaw.  When  he  reached  California  and  found 
his  people  gone,  he  felt  more  lonely  than  on  any  polar  crag. 
He  learned  from  his  bank  of  their  departure  for  Belgium 
and  of  his  wife's  recent  letter  asking  for  money,  but  telling 
no  news. 

Immediately  the  fate  of  Belgium  ceased  to  be  an  aca 
demic  matter.  He  had  likened  it  to  a  small  floe  of  ice 
caught  between  great  bergs  of  ice  drawn  toward  each 
other  by  a  gravity  of  old  antipathies  which  they  had  help 
lessly  inherited,  and  by  tempests  and  currents  that  no 
individual  had  set  in  motion  and  none  could  check. 

But  the  thought  of  his  own  poor  darlings  in  that  crush 
drove  him  into  a  frenzy.  The  words  one  reads  with  such 
indifference,  "pillage,  rapine,  excesses,  regrettable  in 
cidents,  atrocities,"  became  words  of  flaming  torment. 
They  meant  suddenly  and  vividly  to  him  what  they  really 
mean — what  they  actually  meant  to  each  terror-mad,  hor 
rified,  bleeding,  sobbing,  aching,  shamefast  body  and  soul 
that  the  chronicle  lumps  up  in  a  cold  anonymity. 

His  waking  hours  were  tortured  with  imaginings  of 
scenes,  his  sleep  was  broken  with  nightmares  where  he  was 
a  manacled  witness  of  unspeakable  deeds. 

In  a  club  where  he  sought  refuge  from  his  solitude  there 
was  a  small  bronze  of  the  familiar  statue  of  the  gorilla  that 
lugs  the  naked  woman  into  the  jungle  despite  the  futile 
arrow  in  his  side.  Cartoonists  had  put  a  helmet  on  that 
gorilla  and  labeled  the  woman  "Civilization."  To  Stephen 
Parcot  the  beast  was  not  a  symbol,  but  a  brute,  and  the 
struggling  woman  was  not  an  allegory,  but  now  his  daughter, 
now  his  wife. 

He  sent  his  cablegram  to  his  wife  in  care  of  the  Com 
mission  for  Relief  in  Belgium  and  went  to  New  York  to 
meet  the  answer  half-way.  When  it  came  with  its  lying 
cheerfulness  he  flung  himself  on  his  hotel  bed,  weeping  aloud 
with  relief,  and  slipping  to  his  knees  to  sob  out  prayers  of 
thanks  to  the  merciful  God. 

The  world  was  a  better  place  to  breathe  in  now,  and  he 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

forgave  the  Germans  much  because  they  had  spared  his 
own.  His  only  torment  now  was  impatience  to  take  his 
three  graces  into  his  arms  again.  The  cablegram  that 
they  had  sailed  sent  him  into  the  clouds  of  rapture  and  of 
anxiety  lest  the  sea,  which  he  knew  too  well,  might  claim 
what  the  Germans  had  missed. 

He  walked  the  streets  the  next  day,  looking  into  the 
windows  and  making  purchases  of  gifts  for  his  loves,  ex 
travagant  gifts  that  he  could  not  afford — the  only  kind  of 
gifts  that  satisfy  love. 

His  comfortable  eyes  caught  the  head-lines  on  an  evening 
paper  that  an  inarticulate  news-howler  was  thrusting  at  a 
passer-by.  It  told  of  the  sinking  of  the  ship  that  carried 
his  people. 

There  was  no  further  news  than  this,  but  a  word  that 
rescue  ships  had  been  despatched  and  that  many  had  died. 

He  fled  from  the  streets  to  the  solitude  he  was  most  used 
to,  and  a  blizzard  of  visions  stormed  through  his  brain. 
He  gave  up  hope,  and  all  the  pitiful  remonstrance  he 
could  make  was  to  hunt  out  the  medal  the  Kaiser  had 
pinned  on  his  proudly  swelling  breast,  and  to  fling  it  to  the 
floor  and  trample  it,  then  to  write  the  Kaiser  a  letter  of 
fierce  abhorrence  and  send  the  medal  to  the  German  Am 
bassador  with  the  assurances  of  his  undying  contempt. 

That  gave  him  small  comfort,  but  it  did  relieve  his  past 
of  one  stain. 

There  was  no  more  word  till  the  next  morning,  and  then 
only  a  brief  list  of  the  known  dead.  Neither  Mrs.  Stephen 
Parcot,  nor  either  of  the  Misses  Parcot,  appeared  on  that 
list,  and  he  took  a  little  hope.  The  name  of  Mrs.  Judson  and 
her  child  Benoni  meant  nothing  to  him. 

That  night  there  were  fuller  stories,  including  an  account 
of  the  bringing  in  of  the  boat-load  containing  Mrs.  Parcot 
and  her  daughter  Dimny,  and  describing  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Parcot's  other  daughter,  Mrs.  Judson,  and  her  child,  as 
already  reported. 

This  bewildered  him  while  it  broke  his  heart.  He  was 
distracted  further  to  read  that  Mrs.  Parcot's  baby,  only  a 
few  months  old,  had  survived. 

What  could  that  mean?  Alice  must,  then,  have  married 

320 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

a  year  ago,  but  who  was  her  husband  and  where  was  he? 
She  was  too  young  to  have  married,  yet  younger  to  be  a 
mother,  and  all  too  young  to  have  died. 

And  his  wife — her  child — a  few  months  old !  Wild  dreads 
and  wild  jealousies  were  followed  by  mad  self-reproach. 
He  tried  to  compute  the  time  and  prove  the  baby  his,  but 
the  great  mathematician  could  not  add  or  subtract.  This 
famous  astronomer  was  baffled  by  the  calendar. 

Then  came  another  cable  from  Dimny.     It  said: 

Mother  and  your  baby  safe  poor  Alice  lost  we  sail  to-morrow  Tus- 
cania.  Love  Dimny. 

He  wept  and  laughed.  The  words  "your  baby  "  gave  him 
comfort  that  shamed  him  while  it  blessed.  Then  he 
wondered  if  Dimny  referred  to  herself.  He  had  always 
called  her  his  baby. 

As  day  followed  day  and  night  night,  his  soul  in  the 
igloo  of  his  skull  weathered  the  fiercest  storms  and  attained 
at  last  a  calm,  whether  of  mere  fatigue  or  philosophy. 

He  resolved  that  whatever  the  truth  might  be,  his  wife 
had  suffered  enough  and  that  no  word  of  his,  nor  even  a 
look  of  doubt,  should  give  her  pain  instead  of  the  perfect 
love  he  owed  her.  If  she  could  not  look  to  him  for  shelter, 
where  could  she  hope  for  it?  If  she  must  come  to  him  as  to 
a  judge,  what  was  the  use  of  love  at  all  ? 

If  the  child  were  not  his,  at  least  she  was  coming  home  to 
him,  she  must  want  him.  He  would  not  fail  her.  His 
heart  was  freed  of  its  poisons  and  he  could  grieve  cleanly 
for  Alice.  He  wondered  who  her  husband  was,  and  his 
heart  went  out  to  the  poor  stranger  whom  she  must  have 
loved  well  indeed  to  marry  him.  He  wondered  why  she 
had  left  him,  or  why  he  did  not  come  along.  Perhaps  he 
had  been  killed  in  battle.  He  wondered  and  wore  himself 
down  till  his  flogged  brain  could  not  even  wonder  more. 

At  last  the  ship  came  in  that  brought  his  people  home. 
He  met  them  on  the  pier.  Reporters  fought  with  him  for 
their  first  words,  but  he  brushed  them  away.  He  was  big 
and  fierce  and  they  retreated  before  the  flail  of  his  arm. 

It  was  such  a  pride  to  Dimny  and  her  mother  to  have  a 

•521 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

champion  of  their  own  against  the  world  and  its  cruelty  o/ 
curiosity,  that  they  forgot  the  substitute  they  had  found  in 
Noll  Winsor. 

He  saw  them  fling  themselves  about  the  giant  and  saw 
his  long  arms  envelop  them.  Then  Noll  went  his  way, 
feeling  useless,  forsaken,  superfluous. 

Just  after  he  trudged  across  the  gang-plank  Dimny 
remembered  him.  She  called  to  him,  but  he  had  vanished. 

She  explained  to  her  father:  "I  wanted  you  to  meet 
Noll.  He  has  been  so  good  to  us.  He — 

Her  father  stared  at  her  with  a  childish  pain  of  fear. 
"Good  Lord!  You're  not  going  to  marry  somebody,  are 
you,  and  leave  me  no  child  at  all?"  He  caught  himself  and 
apologized  to  the  baby  cooing  in  his  wife's  arms.  "  Forgive 
me,  you  sweet  pink  thing." 

He  took  the  baby  to  his  own  heart  and  led  the  way  to 
an  automobile.  The  infant  optimist  that  had  chortled  while 
the  ship  sank,  and  had  found  the  life-boat  a  lullaby,  made 
no  difficulty  about  the  clenched  arms  of  this  big  stranger. 

The  baby  warmed  the  heart  of  the  man  like  a  live  coal. 
In  the  seclusion  of  the  motor  he  paid  a  tribute  of  grief  to 
Alice  and  tried  to  stifle  the  outcry  in  his  own  heart  against 
that  murder,  and  to  appease  the  ache  in  his  wife's  eyes,  by 
mumbling : 

"God  sent  us  this  little  one  to  take  the  poor  child's 
place." 

This  word  had  a  strange  influence  on  his  wife.  Her  eyes 
ran  away  from  his  with  a  sudden  alarm,  and  all  his  doubt 
came  back.  The  baby  in  his  arms  was  a  live  coal  indeed. 
But  he  must  needs  hold  it  till  they  reached  the  hotel. 

In  that  long  ride  his  thoughts  were  jolted  back  to  their 
old  resolution.  He  was  too  big  a  man  to  fight  that  little 
handful  of  flesh  or  to  be  afraid  of  it.  Its  chuckles  touched 
the  primeval  springs  of  laughter.  Its  flapping,  mittened 
hands  and  its  two  feet  kicking  as  one  in  the  swaddling  wraps 
amused  him  irresistibly,  and  for  all  his  gloom  he  was  speak 
ing  to  it : 

"You're  not  a  human  baby;  you're  a  little  pink  seal. 
Your  mother  must  have  found  you  out  on  the  ice.  Do  you 
want  me  to  chuck  you  back  into  Baffin  Bay?" 

322 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

He  made  a  pretense  of  tossing  it  out  of  the  window. 
Its  cluck  and  gurgle  of  laughter  brought  it  back  to  his 
breast.  He  listened  to  its  inarticulate  conversation,  and 
said: 

"That's  the  purest  Eskimo  I  ever  heard  spoken." 

He  laughed  across  the  mystery  to  his  wife  and  saw  her 
cowering  backward  and  staring  at  him  with  guilty  terror. 
He  stared  and  groaned: 

"Alma!  honey!     You're  not  afraid  of  me,  are  you?" 

He  sent  out  his  long  arm  for  her  and  drew  her  close  and 
kissed  her  briny  cheeks.  And  these  tears  were  the  first 
that  she  had  shed  that  did  not  burn. 

The  car  that  was  speeding  them  through  crowded  streets 
might  have  been  a  comet  sweeping  through  the  stars,  for 
all  she  knew.  She  put  her  arms  about  her  husband.  They 
closed  their  wet  eyes  and  clung  together  for  one  long 
while,  like  young  mates  communing  over  their  first-born. 

Dimny  felt  quite  out  of  the  nest.  She  worshiped  them 
both,  but  her  childhood  was  over. 

At  the  hotel  she  left  them  to  themselves.  Through  the 
muffling  door  between  her  room  and  theirs  she  heard  her 
mother  weeping,  her  father  groaning  in  tenderness  or  in 
rage,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  giving  him  her  history  to 
share. 

At  the  end  of  it  he  came  into  Dimny's  room,  looking  as 
if  a  great  tempest  had  cast  him  ashore,  bruised  and  worn 
and  haggard,  but  unconquered. 

"  Dimny,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  know  that  your  mother 
has  told  me  everything — including  what  you've  done, 
you  God-blessed  brave  little  angel."  He  bent  and  kissed 
her  and  she  had  her  reward  in  his  love. 

She  hugged  him  ferociously  and  praised  him  for  being — 
himself — the  best  of  men,  a  God  on  earth.  She  gave  him 
much  daughterly  adoration,  and  he  fled  this.  He  said : 

"  I've  got  nothing  in  my  heart  but  pity  and  love  for  your 
mother.  I've  got  everything  in  my  heart  for  Germany  but 
pity  and  love." 

When  he  left  her  she  felt  a  loneliness  beyond  endurance. 
She  wondered  where  Noll  Winsor  was,  why  he  had  aban 
doned  her  on  this  desert  shore  of  America. 

323 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

She  looked  down  from  her  window  into  the  streets  of 
New  York,  flashing,  glowing  with  sunlight,  and  brilliant 
with  swarms  of  people  and  not  a  bayonet  or  a  bread-line  in 
view. 

Twilight  came  as  she  watched,  remembering  her  vigils  in 
forlorn  Brussels.  She  remembered  how  Noll  Winsor  had 
knocked  on  her  door  there  once,  and  had  implored  her  not 
to  cry.  Where  was  he  now? 

Suddenly  the  electric  lights  in  the  streets  flashed  into 
glory.  From  where  she  stood  she  could  not  see  Broadway, 
but  only  the  milky  glimmer  it  threw  into  the  sky. 

The  war  had  not  reached  this  country,  but  it  must  come. 
She  felt  that  the  time  would  arrive  when  that  glittering 
Broadway  would  be  dark,  v/hen  the  streets  would  be  full 
of  uniforms,  when  the  ships  would  put  forth  thronged 
with  soldiers,  when  the  lists  of  dead  and  wounded  would 
blot  the  papers  every  day,  when  the  wounded  and  maimed, 
the  blind  and  the  dazed,  would  come  home,  when  hunger 
and  perplexity  and  desperation  would  fill  the  land  and  the 
sea. 

Dimny  felt  that  nothing  could  save  the  world  from 
Germany  but  America — America  vast  and  slow  to  wrath, 
but  terrible  once  awake.  She  felt  that  she  had  her  mission 
in  life. 

Here  in  this  luxurious  tower  above  this  gleaming  city 
she  felt  the  spirits  of  war  calling  to  her  as  plainly  as  Joan 
of  Arc  heard  them  among  the  apple-trees  in  Domremy. 

In  these  days  there  would  be  nothing  wonderful  about  a 
girl  astride  a  horse  and  going  to  war.  Thousands  of  them 
were  in  and  near  the  battle-fields  of  Europe,  and  in  Russia 
the  Battalion  of  Death  would  soon  be  meeting  annihilation 
with  fire. 

As  Dimny  saw  herself  pleading  with  her  country  not  to 
lag  abed  in  sloth,  but  to  rise  and  save  the  threatened  earth, 
she  heard  the  telephone  ring. 

She  became  again  for  a  while  what  she  had  had  so  little 
chance  and  time  to  be — a  young  girl  harkening  to  the  cry 
of  love. 

She  ran  to  the  telephone  and  heard  the  voice  she  hoped 
it  was,  groaning: 

324 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

"Is  that  you?" 

"Yes,  Noll  dear." 

"Thank  God!  I've  telephoned  to  every  other  hotel  in 
the  world,  I  think.  Wouldn't  it  be  my  luck  to  telephone 
this  one  last?" 

"  I  was  just  going  to  begin  to  telephone  to  all  of  them  for 
you." 

"Honestly?" 

"Honestly." 

"Had  your  dinner?" 

"No." 

"Could  you  dine  with  me?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"I  want  to  see  you  before  I  take  the  train." 

"The  train!     What  train?" 

"I  telegraphed  my  mother  that  I'd  take  the  midnight. 
She'd  never  forgive  me  if  I  didn't." 

"Neither  would  I." 

"Will  you  miss  me  a  little?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Oh!     I'm  sorry." 

"I'm  not,  for  I'm  going  with  you." 

"What?" 

"Of  course  I  am.  I've  just  lost  my  mother,  and  I'm 
going  to  steal  yours." 

"Dimny!  Good  Lord!  I'm  in  a  telephone-booth  like  a 
solitary  cell.  I  can't  talk  to  you  from  here." 

"It  seems  rather  foolish  to  try  to." 

"Good-by!" 

There  was  a  click  before  her  good-by  could  be  uttered. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stared  down  into  the  street, 
wondering  which  one  of  the  taxicab  roofs  gliding  up  to 
the  hotel  door  would  be  his. 

So  many  came  and  went  and  such  distorted  grotesques 
escaped  from  them  that  she  failed  to  recognize  Noll  when 
he  arrived.  He  had  knocked  at  her  door  several  times 
before  she  drew  her  head  in  from  the  window. 

She  ran  to  admit  him.  He  had  been  so  afraid  that 
she  had  vanished  from  him  as  once  before  that  he  stared 
at  her  now  and  made  no  move  in  her  direction.  She 

325 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

took  his  hat  and  coat  from  him  and  put  them  down,  and 
turned. 

It  was  still — even  in  that  advanced  day — the  habit  of 
women  to  wait  for  their  men  to  begin  the  embracing.  But 
Noll  had  been  frightened  off.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
glorious  enough  to  say.  He  said: 

"Have  you  heard  the  war  news?"  Dimny  snubbed  him 
flatly. 

"No,  and  I  don't  want  to.  We've  had  enough  of  it 
for  a  while.  There's  plenty  of  it  ahead.  We've  got  a 
right  to  a  little  respite — just  a  few  days'  reprieve,  haven't 
we?" 

He  laughed  comfortably  and  nodded  and  was  about  to 
sink  into  a  chair,  a  small,  frail  comfortless  hotel  chair. 

Dimny  folt  an  irresistible  urge  to  be  strong,  since  he  was 
so  weak;  to  be  bold,  since  he  was  so  timid.  She  would  not 
let  him  deny  her  what  she  had  so  long  denied  him  and 
herself. 

She  went  to  him  with  the  authority  of  a  bride,  took  his 
hands  and  drew  his  arms  about  her,  built  herself  a  nest  in 
his  embrace.  When  he  understood,  he  left  her  no  reason 
to  complain  of  his  strength. 

They  had  seen  much  wretchedness  together  and  more 
was  to  come.  They  had  resolved  to  devote  themselves  to 
the  freedom  of  Belgium  and  they  could  not  dream  how 
completely  the  freedom  of  their  own  people  was  to  become 
involved.  They  could  hardly  have  borne  the  knowledge 
of  what  was  in  store  for  the  world.  The  butcheries  of 
1914  and  1915  seemed  to  be  all  that  mankind  could  endure. 
Their  imaginations  were  spared,  for  the  time,  the  vision 
of  the  vaster  tragedies  of  the  years  that  followed,  beating 
upon  the  anvil  of  history  like  the  sledges  of  doom,  1916, 
1917,  1918 — crushing  the  delicate,  the  glittering,  the 
exquisite,  everything  that  was  crystalline,  and  making 
steel  of  all  that  survived  the  hammer. 

Youth  in  love  and  in  mutual  embrace  demanded  its 
little  smiling-while  of  tenderness  and  put  away  the  facts 
and  the  omens  that  marred  the  perfection  of  its  union. 
Youth  in  love  mocked  the  future  with  the  brave  imperti 
nence,  "Cheer  up,  the  worst  is  yet  to  come." 

326 


THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN 

From  the  tower  of  their  window  they  looked  out  upon 
a  city  at  peace  and  a  country  soothed  with  prosperity. 
The  sky  was  troubled  with  flickerings  of  lightning  and 
the  presages  of  storm,  but  these  two  were  imparadised 
in  their  own  world,  snatching  a  draught  of  happiness  before 
they  took  up  the  harness  of  war,  the  first  war  that  men 
and  women  waged  in  partnership.  There  would  be  a 
certain  noble  frightful  happiness  in  it,  too. 

But  that  was  the  future's  business.  Their  moment  was 
the  primeval  inalienable  hour  of  love. 

Out  in  the  mid- West  there  was  also  a  grace  of  rapture, 
for  an  old,  old  woman  rocking  alone  on  a  porch  in  the 
iwilight,  and  wishing  that  her  son  would  come  home, 
heard  footsteps  hurrying  along  the  walk  under  the  black 
trees.  A  shadowy  messenger  brought  her  a  telegram. 

She  could  not  see  to  read  it  in  the  gloaming,  and  she  was 
afraid  to  go  in  and  read  it  alone.  She  asked  the  boy  to 
tell  her  what  it  said.  He  lighted  matches  and  read  it 
haltingly  in  uncouth  dialect,  but  he  was  like  a  darkling 
angel  in  her  eyes,  for  he  told  her  that  her  son  was  coming 
home.  She  knew  that  sons  come  home  to  go  away  again, 
but  all  she  asked,  for  now,  was  that  her  boy  was  coming 
home. 


THE   END 


A     000817287     6 


